Sam Burnham, Curator
In Floyd County, just north of Rome you'll find (with a little direction and some luck) an old dirt road cut off from the world by a simple metal gate. Signs at the gate communicate that the road is closed to automobile traffic, that the road is an entrance to the Berry College Wildlife Management Area, that permits and permission are required for seasonal hunting, that hunters must check in at the GDNR station, and some generalized messaging to let you know that if you come out there acting a fool that you'll probably going to jail. It is typical of the many such entrances to Berry WMA properties throughout norther Floyd County but this one is still a bit different.
I don't remember how old I was the first time I heard someone telling me of the horrors and frights that were somehow ubiquitous along the "CC Road." There was the apparently indisputable truth that you crossed three bridges going out and only two coming back (or 5 out and 4 back, depending on who was telling the story.) There was always some ghost sighting or other supernatural phenomenon that this group or that couple experienced. There was the ruins of an old church and cemetery that had been adopted and defaced by a band of Satanists (roving bands of Satanists form the spine of many spooky stories in the area) who used the property for all manners of frightening and unspeakable rituals and ceremonies.
To people in northwest Georgia, these stories were as big as coastal Georgia's Altamaha-ha. This was on the same level as Atlantis, Bigfoot, The Loch Ness Monster, or Irving's Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The legends inspired the Georgia-based band Southgang song The Legend of CC Road which appeared on their 1992 album Group Therapy. What made it even more real and foreboding is that it is right in our own backyards. You'd hear where John or Sally had ventured out with older siblings or friends. They'd made it to the old church, seen the inverted crosses, heard chilling screams or voices. and, most notably, somehow crossed fewer bridges coming back out than they had going in.
Because there just isn't much that can be scarier than a disappearing bridge.
I have to admit that my skepticism is a recent development. When I was a kid, this was one of the most thrilling things to hear about. "What did you see? Was it really like they say?" I never went down the CCC Road before Berry (wisely) gated it off to cut back on the shenanigans. In fact, the first time I went down the road was in broad daylight and I don't recall noticing any bridges other than the one at the gate. That could explain why I'm more intrigued by the disappearing "C" in the name than I am the reports of a disappearing bridge. It leaves me wondering which word in Civilian Conservation Corps, who is credited with building the road, is being omitted.
Regarding the church, I have no idea if the church of legend still stands. Currently the only church I know of in that area is the old Mountain Springs Church, the last remnant of the community of the same name. Small communities used to dot the landscape that has since been absorbed by the Berry Wildlife Management Area. Occasionally a church may remain, perhaps a few weathered headstones in a neglected cemetery - Mountain Springs, Freemantown, Sand Springs - mostly just memories survive to the present day.
In the remaining churches periodic meetings may still be held. A sign at the gate advised a meeting being held at Mountain Springs Church at 4 and the gate closing at 6. In other words, feel free to attend the service but don't expect to get out if you are using the open gate as an opportunity for running amok in the dark. You'll return to find yourself locked in the with legends. Sweet dreams.
While I am skeptical about many of the stories and I despise vandalism of any kind, I'm thankful for these tales. We don't have enough mystery and intrigue in our days. Everything has to be logical, explainable, provable. In simpler times we could dream, fear, be wary of what may be lurking out an old dirt road nearby.
I think there may be more to this story in general. I may need to look into this...
Sam Burnham, Curator
An old barn standing along a country road might be the sort of thing that one would overlook. There’s not much there to occupy the modern attention span. It’s not flashy. It’s not sleek or glamourous.
It wasnt built for those reasons.
At the same tome, some current trends do lead to a new purpose for barns. A farm wedding fad has landowners adding wet bars, dance floors, restrooms, even stage lighting to host grand parties .
I personally like any idea that gives an old barn a purpose. To see one standing along a roadside is treat. To see one serving its original intended purpose is even better.
Mostly I love the quietness that I find. An old country road is often far from the traffic gridlock and noise pollution that comes along with modernity. To get out of it all, if only for a short time, is a respite, an oasis in a desert of noisy chaos.
There’s no bold revelation here. No stirring appeal to action. It’s just a few thoughts and a picture of an old barn standing along a country road. Judging by the number of page visitors lately, I’m assuming I’m not the only person who loves such a find. If you know someone else who does, please feel free to share this with them.
By Sam Burnham
Summer is here and for so many throughout the South that means fun in the sun and surf along the Gulf Coast. Growing up in Georgia, when people said they were headed to the beach they meant Panama City. Occasionally you'd encounter someone who was headed to Destin or maybe Ft. Walton Beach. My family had enough of a peninsular Florida influence that this infatuation with Panama City was bizarre. My childhood beach experiences included Daytona, Ormond, Jacksonville, and St. Augustine. In fact, I visited South Beach on Martha's Vineyard and a secluded beach on Salt Cay, Bahamas before I ever stepped foot in Bay County Florida.
These days, Panama City, and Daytona for that matter, is a picture of an urban center with a strip of white sand. There's just not much there for a small town guy looking for some relaxation that only comes from some peace and quiet. But all the cool kids are doing it. Even Gulf Shores/Orange Beach (our go-to since 2001) and Ft. Walton (our other choice) have really picked up in traffic, crowds and noise.
I can get all that in Atlanta and spend a lot less money.
Enter Summer 2017, stage right.
I think I have found an ABG approved option to the summer beach vacation. It's options plural, really, as is usually the case. I often say that big problems tend to require many small solutions and the beach is no exception. Let's talk about The Beaches of South Walton along scenic Highway 30A. The highway is part of what makes the area great. It's a two lane blacktop that veers off US 98 in Walton County and connects a string of small communities that each have their own feel, personality, if you will. Some of the places are old. Some are recent developments. This is by no means an exhaustive critique of the 30A beaches but I would like to offer a few of my insights on the places I was able to observe.
Blue Mountain Beach
Blue Mountain was our base of operation on this trip. Far removed from the high-rise condo structures in Panama City and Gulf Shores, this neighborhood is peppered with houses with very few businesses of any sort. The colorful structures rise up from the thickets of scrub oaks and spiky palms. But there is nary a mountain in sight. There is an ice cream shop, the Creamery, that I never made it to because the line was stretched out into the street all three times I dropped by. I'm guessing it is good. I can vouch for the ice cream at Buddy's Bike Rentals. The wait was much shorter and the treats good.
Developed by the St. Joe Paper company and designed by the same folks who produced the Disney town of Celebration, WaterColor is a lovely splash of color as well as brick streets. The community has an architecture that mashes well with the landscape. Speaking of landscape, the use of trees and other plants is excellent. The neighborhood has a very homey feel to it. It's very classy without being too posh. When I passed through on bicycle, there were people walking and biking around. There were a few places with tents set up offering kids activities and such. It's still a relatively quiet destination that is just a short walk or bike ride to Seaside, which we'll discuss next.
Seaside is a planned (er...mostly) community that you may have seen in the Jim Carey movie The Truman Show. There is talk that it earned that role because it came across as fake, almost too good to be true. If it is too good to be true, it still convinced me that it was, in fact, true. Along 30A, Seaside is the happening place. That is the one stretch of the road that had moderate traffic. It slowed but it was not the parking lot you experience in other places. It is easily navigated by bike or on foot. Much of the architecture is based on the old Florida designs and that tugged on the heart strings a bit. The community's center is a park that includes a stage area for open air music and drama, restaurants and shops, food trucks made from old Airstream campers, and a quaint little post office that I dare you to try to not photograph. I had to grab a few pictures, I just couldn't help it The interfaith chapel is a breathtaking wedding venue.
Seaside was a little crowded for my taste. A good place to drop in, have a little fun, and then slip back down to a place more my speed. A touch busy but beautiful just the same.
Let's talk about Alys Beach. When you pass through Alys, it will absolutely grab your attention. The stark white structures and statuary put a modern twist on the beaches along this highway. The cars and amenities indicate that there is money in Alys Beach. I'm honestly not a fan of the architecture. I don't think it blends well with the landscape. I don't think that I could get comfortable there. Between the harsh angles and bleached appearance, I'd be scared to sit down anywhere. It seems sterile, perhaps even starched. Don't get me wrong, it's a sight to see. I'd suggest a ride through. If you're into the modernist thing, I'd say stay there. But I'd feel much more at home in Grayton.
Grayton was my favorite of all the communities along 30A. It appears to be the oldest with the first homesteader showing up in the 1880s. The homes have a vernacular feel to them. Even the larger buildings fit neatly into the design scheme of the village. There are a few places for food and drinks. The beach offers an access for boat launching for the gulf while another ramp gives boat access to the lake on the east end of town. There is a lot of shade along the streets. The whole feel of the place is relaxed. Grayton seems to look at you from the porches and call out for you to slow down, take a load off. I'm not saying it is the 12 Southerners with a sand dune but it is about as close as I expect to get to that. I thought so much of this place that I visited it just about every day on bicycle. I'd recommend a stop there for anyone.
I plan to dive deeper into the finer points of 30A this summer. There is more to discuss but this is an overview of the area.
See you soon.
Historian, self-proclaimed gentleman, agrarian-at-heart, & curator extraordinaire