Feed & Seed

I love old Feed-n-Seed stores.

They are the epitome of times gone by to me.

I used to go to them all the time with my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.

I've taken my kids to them.

I got out of the habit of seeking them out for a few years, until I stumbled into one while looking for some way to emergently repair a frost-proof faucet (not many of those around in suburbia where I grew up). That was when it hit me.

Memories flooded back and time nearly stood still.

The leaky faucet would be OK for another 45 minutes or so while I sat down and learned the answer to my problem (and how to fix the faucet).

I love the smells of fertilizer, chicken feed, potting soil, and countless bins of old stuff jumbled together. Mix those with hardwood floors and screen doors with jingly little bells welcoming you into a place that isn't in a rush to get anywhere; where the proprietor can help you figure out a solution to just about any problem at the house, in the field, with an animal, or in the barn; a place where the nexus is a couple of rocking chairs loosely surrounding a wood or oil-burning stove smack-dab in the middle of the place, and it's just about as nice a place to be as any other that crosses my mind.

Sure, some of the newer places have concrete floors, at least in parts. And that's fine, but concrete is a sight harder to stand and walk on all day than 60 yr old hardwood floors covered in a fine layer of peanut shells, dust, and tobacco stains. Concrete just doesn't give off the same smell, or echo with the noise of generations of farmers and country-folks hangin' around jawin' about the leaky roof or that blamed tractor or tellin' stories about bird dogs and horses. Those wide-plank floors have stories carved into them that most folks'll never hear. It's too bad too, cause more folks could stand to hear some of those old stories.

The places with all those lovely traits seem always seem to have folks present who realize that there is a value in appreciating people and a slower style of life - one where hard work is very much appreciated but hard play and quiet moments are equally enjoyable.

I seek them out.

In my hometown.

In my travels.

In my dreams.

I long to walk back into the little store in Pelham where we'd get an Pepsi and salted peanuts.

I really miss Tab's in Laurens where an RC Cola and a Moon Pie were the treat of the day after a long jaunt through miles of fields.

Even the bird dog was welcome in there.

And they had a hitchin' post out front for your horse if you decided to get there by non-mechanical means.

I discovered one in Jefferson, GA a couple of weeks ago that was absolutely fantastic. Streamside place with two levels and a hangar-style roof. It was wonderfully aromatic - like my great-grandfather's barn. I asked where the straw was stored and he told me downstairs and showed me the freight elevator, the floor half-covered in stalks of gold.

I just came in to stretch my legs and visually pore over the rows of plumbing pieces, tractor parts, and storm windows while really just treasuring the fact that there were three fellas just hangin' around wondering what the heck I was there for, but satisfied by my answer of to "Can we help you?"

I told them I was just stopping in for a few minutes of joy.