The Mill on the Bridge

"There's a covered bridge not far from here," Aaron said as I was finishing my second cup of coffee.  Claudette and I were at the Edenhouse Bed and Breakfast in Swainsboro, Georgia. This was our second day at Edenhouse, and we were planning our day. Swainsboro is about 70 miles from Savannah and not much of a tourist attraction, so we were surprised that there would an example of Americana nearby.

"Tell us more," I said.  Our rotund innkeeper was sitting at a nearby table. We had enjoyed conversation with Aaron since our arrival.  As a retiree of the U.S. Air Force he had many interesting stories.

"It's just a few miles from here, near Twin City.  It's at the George L. Smith State Park.  There's a grist mill, cotton gin, and sawmill too. And, you know what the best thing about it is?" he asked.

"Nope," I said.

"A four hundred acre lake," he replied.

"Wow," I said and turned to Claudete to say, "Let's get movin'".

Claudette knows all about my fondness for old grist mills and the like.

We left Swainsboro on Highway 80  for Twin City, and there we followed the sign pointing to the George L. Smith State Park, but we never saw the entrance to the park.  When we reached Metter, Georgia, we realized we had missed the entrance. We took an alternate route back to Highway 80 and found another sign indicating the direction to the park. There is not actually an entrance to the park. As you drive through a pine forest you see signage indicating the locations of campsites and cabins. Eventually we saw the lake and followed the road beside it until we found some buildings by the lake. The small one was labeled restrooms. My second cup of coffee was making itself known, so we stopped in the parking lot under trees which gave credence to the old expression, "higher than a Georgia pine".

Across the road was the lake, studded with cypress and tupelo trees. The waters of the lake were held back by an earthen dam with a covered bridge in the middle of it.

"Claudette, didn't Aaron say there was a sawmill, cotton gin, and grist mill here?"

"Yes, he did, but I don't see anything but a bridge," she responded, "and he said something about railroad tracks going over the bridge, too".

"Well, let's just look at this bridge then. Maybe those fellas fishing can tell us something," I said as I grabbed her hand and walked across the dam to the covered bridge.

About twenty feet inside the bridge, which seemed as wide as the northbound lanes of I-95, I realized that the bridge housed the mill. There were some odd looking wheels about two feet in

diameter over on the side toward the lake under one of the windows.  "They look a little like railroad car wheels," I mused aloud.

"I know what they are!" Claudette said.

"Oh, really," I said.

"Yes I do.  When the horses would  pull wagons onto the bridge they would sometimes get spooked and bolt. So they put those wheels on the wagons and the horses could not pull the wagons in any direction but straight ahead," she said as she gleefully shared her new found knowledge. "See, it says so right here on this plaque mounted on the wall."

"I'm not sure of exactly how that would work...but I guess it would," I said.

Along the wall there were windows so that you could see the interior workings of the grist mill. The history of the mill was told on the wall mounted plaques as well as the technical data about how the grist mill and the former sawmill and cotton gin had operated.  The sawmill had been used to saw some of the timber from which the bridge was built.  The grist mill had begun operation in the 1880's and continued to grind corn until 1973.
Actually, it could grind corn at the rate of two hundred pounds per
hour.  That's a lot of cornbread and hushpuppies!  The mill is currently operated on a limited basis.  I was particularly interested in how the water powered turbine operated.  The older one was on display.  It's about five feet in diameter.  The speed at which the turbine and subsequent mill stone turns is determined by the pitch (angle) of the turbine blades.  It must have been a busy place with everything operating.  We exited the other end of the bridge, and I thought I would see if the fishermen were having any luck.


I walked down the stairway about thirty feet to water level. There were about four fellows fishing there. Just as I walked down, a fisherman pulled out a fish that was black and about fifteen inches long.  The young man in the John Deere cap deftly took the fish off the hook and released it back into the foaming water.

"What's the matter? Was that one too big for the frying pan?" I asked.

"Naw," he said, "That's an old blackfish.  Ain't no good to eat.  Too many bones. Some people call 'em a freshwater shark 'cause they got so many teeth."

"What other kind of fish are in here?" I asked.

"That fella up there caught some bream and crappie," he answered.

"Yeah, a bream's a good eating fish," I said.

"Amen, to that.  Ain't nothin' better," an old timer added.

"Y'all don't catch 'em all now," I said in parting.

We had enjoyed our visit to George L. Smith State Park.  It was a good outing, and we learned a bit, but it was time to head north to our home in the lowcountry of South Carolina.

The Landing

We turned off the busy highway into another world and drove through a silent tunnel of overhanging live oak trees.
"What's that stuff hanging from the trees?" Nathan asked.

"Spanish moss," I answered, "and did you know it was once used to stuff the seats in Model T Fords?"

 Upon entering a clearing we parked in the lot designated for automobiles. Crossing a wooden bridge we entered the main exhibit structure. I looked for alligators in the pool under the bridge but saw none.  I would have loved to have shown one to our grandson visiting from New Jersey.  We entered the cool and  seemingly dimly lit building to buy our tickets.  As senior citizens, a.k.a. old people, Claudette and I received a discount. Instead of a single ticket discount we opted to buy a season pass to all South Carolina State park attractions. We frequently travel around the state and thought this would be a good companion to our Golden Eagle Passport to all National Parks.

Our grandson was anxious to get started on our tour of Charles Towne Landing in Charleston. There is a wonderful exhibit of artifacts and other items explaining this first English settlement in South Carolina.  One of the most interesting to me was the voyages to the new country, particularly the ships and methods of navigation. They really were iron men in wooden ships. There were other displays depicting colonial life and a scale model of the settlement complete with buildings. Some of the displays contain life-size figures of early settlers and Native Americans.  I noticed that our teenaged grandson had taken a great interest in the figure of a native American young woman who was topless. Having once been a teenage boy myself I could easily imagine the fantasies of his mind.  I suggested to him that it was time to go to the park outside although it would have been great to have read every word of descriptive text in the museum.

We left the cool of the museum to enter the hot, balmy Carolina afternoon. There was no movement of a breeze in the trees, just the stillness of the sun burning thick air. An occasional winged insect made its presence known.

The park has many informative signs, and we followed the one toward the animal forest. The display of wild animals is of those animals that would have been seen by the first settlers in 1670. The winding, well-marked trails carried us by bison, deer, bear, and cougar in their natural habitat.  There was also a caged area for birds such as pelicans and wading birds.  When I visited the park in the mid-seventies there were more animals, particularly smaller ones.  Also there had been elk.  In 1989 Hurricane Hugo destroyed the park, which was initially built to celebrate South Carolina's tricentennial. The reconstructed park did not have the same animals as before. The below ground exhibit space was not restored either.  The bear and cougar do not get close enough to the fence for good viewing, but the river otters always put on a good show.

After leaving the animal displays we walked toward the water. Along the way we passed a primitive building and palisade fortified with cannon.  These are the only seventeenth century cannon on the east coast that are fired with any regularity.  They are fired every third Saturday by volunteers in period costume. As we neared the waterfront we saw the skeleton of an early ship during construction.

"Hey, Nathan," I call out, "let's see how well we can tie knots." There is a panel with short lengths of rope attached for some "hands-on" experience. "I've never been able to tie a clove hitch," I announced.

"Let's do it," he responded, "I learned some knot tying in Boy Scouts." I felt a competition coming on. "I think the cowboys tied their horses to the hitching post with a clove hitch just like this!" I deftly tied the ropes into a perfect clove hitch! First time, ever!

'You said you had never tied a clove hitch!" he exclaimed.

"I haven't. And I know you won't believe me, but it's true," I exclaimed without success.

Next, we stepped gingerly aboard the replica coastal trading ship of the seventeenth century. The young man on board was well versed on period sailing ships and answered all our questions.  This replica ship was built in Maine and was sailed from the shipyard to its current berth. These small ships  could cross the oceans, but they were normally used for coastal cargo ships.  A typical crew for this ship was six to eight men.  The captain and first mate shared a cabin, but the rest of the crew had a common berthing area. It is easy to imagine the cramped quarters below deck when cargo and stores were aboard.

We had a great visit.  It is a great place for family fun. We will return of course; I must see the cannon firing.

My video of our visit.

The House of the Man From Rizq

"Get in," she said, "I'll show you something you've never seen before."

"Yeah, right," Claudette said as she got in the shotgun seat of the somewhat battered Mazda.
I was in the backseat with stuff.  Single people always have a lot of stuff in their cars. I don't know why.  Apartment overflow, I guess. I peered forward at the back of Christina's head. There was a bat tattooed on her neck, and I resigned myself to the fact that a girl with a bat tattoo could probably show me something I had not seen before.  I decided I would be quiet and refrain from commenting on her driving style. The little car seemed to start off spinning and stop sliding, and all cornering was done on two wheels. With clenched teeth I maintained my composure.

"You say we're going to see a pyramid?" Claudette asked.

The girl with the tattoo said. "You got that right!" I knew she liked some rather bizarre architecture and was fond of the pyramid at Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston.

"But there's a lot more than a pyramid," she said. "You just gotta see it!"

We have left Covington, Georgia, and got on the road to Eatonton. The rolling countryside was beautiful in the spring sunshine. The trees had that special bright green of first growth. The little car bounced off the rural highway dodging potholes.  I felt as though we were traveling at an unsafe rate of speed. Of course, I could not let my fears be known without some damage to my male image. I was not in the frame of mind for male bashing which my dear wife and our daughter would have enjoyed.

We were entering open country as our driver said, "It's up ahead on the right!"

"What is that?" I asked.

"A pyramid, of course," Christina answered, "I told you you'd see something you hadn't seen before!"

"Hey, slow down, so I can get a better picture. That looks like the Sphinx and a statue of Isis"

"They get kinda upset when you take pictures," she said.

We were passing an arched gate with some kind of Egyptian hieroglyphics on it.  There were some men in  brimless hats holding automatic weapons guarding the gate. "Those looked like AK-47s to me," I said.

"They call themselves Nuwaubians, and they're always in trouble with the law.  They came here over ten years ago and bought almost five hundred acres of land to build their, uh, settlement on. Some of the local folks say they are waiting for a spaceship from the planet Rizq to come and get them," she was smiling when she said "spaceship".

"Waiting on a spaceship, what a novel idea,' Claudette said, " but it looks like they mostly live in those mobile homes. Christina, what's that sound?"

"That's supposed to be some kind of Egyptian call to prayer or something like the Muslim's call to prayer, I think." said our daughter. The black Mazda with bat decals on the back window was moving at a snail's pace while I made quick sketches.

"I think we better get outta here.  Those men with the AKs are coming this way. Never need to argue with a man with a submachine gun," I said.

She down-shifted and stomped the accelerator pedal, and the little car rocketed forward leaving the compound of the black supremacist.

The girl was right.  I did see something I had never seen before.

Additional Information

• The correct name of the compound was Tama-Re  founded in 1993.
• In 2001 Jesse Jackson visited the compound and pledged his support. 
• In 2002 FBI agents and Putnam County sheriff's officers raided the compound.
• January 2004: Nuwaubian leader Malachi York, 58, was convicted of child molestation and racketeering. He appeared to be going away for a very long time.
• The property was confiscated by the FBI, IRS, and Putnam County Sheriff.  The structures were destroyed and the property sold with the proceeds going to the identities named above.

The Moment

There was that time when I was going to the Junior Prom back in the days of yore. I remember it well, just like it was yesterday. It was on a Saturday night, and I was all slicked up.  I checked myself out in the mirror.  I was smooth shaven.  It had taken a year or two to get the hang of the Gillette double-edged safety razor, but I had managed. My hair, which I spent a bunch of time on, was looking good.  Just the right amount of Butch wax in front. I used BrylCreem on the back and sides to get that perfect duck tail. My hair was squared off on the neck, Elvis style. When I was about fourteen I had squared it off myself with a hunting knife using a mirror to see the back. It hadn't gone over too well with my parents though.   Yes, I did look good in a white dinner jacket. I wore my regular penny loafers with a shine that you could see yourself in. Of course, I still had the taps on the heels so that when I drug my feet on the sidewalk they would make sparks at night. The girls thought that was very cool.

Lionel Hampton 
Wikipedia photo

This was my first big date, and everything had to be perfect. I'd spent half the day getting the family Ford all clean and shiny. At seven-thirty I picked up Linda, the Lutheran preacher's daughter. After a quick inspection by the reverend and my promise to have his daughter home by eleven we were on our way. No problems with the Lutheran household except maybe the problem with the corsage.  Who would have thought a preacher's daughter would have worn a strapless evening dress? Although I would  have loved, and I mean LOVED, to have attached it to her bosom, which was rather ample for a teenaged girl, I did not. Her mother devised a way to attach said flowers to her wrist. In about 15 minutes we would be at the dance.  Not much on the car radio.  The big stations didn't come in clear until nighttime.  Then we could hear WLS from Chicago and John Orr advertising Randy's Record Shop in Memphis. That was some good music. Our parents weren't too fond of Rhythm and Blues.  Some called it "colored music". Hardly anything but static on the radio.  Sure wish I had one of those car record players, but soon we'd dancing to the good stuff at the prom.

Everybody always looks better in formal wear. The girls are so much prettier. We made our way through the receiving line in the grand ballroom of the Oregon Hotel and met our friends. We were in the grandest hotel in downtown Greenwood, South Carolina. The music was a big let-down. The faculty had picked the band. It was Lionel Hampton's band.  I can't imagine anyone dancing to the music of the Vibes. It was a bust. Soon people were leaving, after they had the crowning of the King and Queen of the prom, and we followed suit. We rode through the Dixie Drive-In and the Ranch Drive-In on the way to Linda's and only stopped a few minutes to talk with friends.

By the time we were going down the road to Linda's house they were really playing some good music on the radio. Tunes like "Earth Angel" and "Run Around Sue".  And those great songs of the Platters.

I pulled the Ford up into Linda's driveway, and we sat and talked for a few minutes. We sat close together and were thankful that the government had not made seat belts mandatory in cars. It sounded like a dumb idea. I mean, how could a guy carry his girl out on a date with her sitting way on the other side of the car?  I walked her to the door.  I decided that I would kiss her goodnight even though it was our first date. The porch light was on.  I'm thinking that the preacher must still be up. Linda opened the screen door and stuck her hand inside and turned off the porch light. Things were looking better! She seemed to melt into my arms. The moonlight danced across the lawn, and I could hear the Platters on the car radio. "Heavenly shades of night are falling.  It's  twilight time..."  Things were perfect...almost. We kinda banged our glasses together.  Mine were black rimmed and hers were those cat-eyed shaped ones, but I deftly grabbed hers and mine and stuck them in my jacket pocket. Much better. She  looked up into my eyes and closed hers while tilting her head back. Her lips slightly parted. I looked down into the face of the most beautiful girl in the world and puckered my lips.

A loud yelp, bark, snarl came from near my left foot, as I had stepped on the foot of Linda's Yorkie. The little dog had slipped out of the house when she had opened the door to turn off the light. The moment was spoiled.

I never did get that kiss, but I did cultivate quite a dislike for Yorkshire Terriers!

The Dirt Church

"Let's go see a dirt church," I said after lunch one Sunday afternoon last year.

"What?" she asked, but added, "We need to get out of the house this afternoon instead keeping our noses in the TV."

Many have heard the term "common as dirt" and then there was the movie "Joe Dirt". The term "dirt" refers to unclean matter. But, when used as a building material it is soil. The correct term for dirt, i.e. soil construction is rammed earth. This construction method was first used in China as long ago as 5000 BC and is used on virtually every continent except Antarctica. The process is actually very simple: forms are made of wood, and earth is packed inside the forms. The form is removed, and the wall remains standing.  The earth is sometimes a mixture of clay, sand, and gravel and is lightly damp. It is compacted to one half its original size. For example, if earth is piled into a form to the four foot level, it is then damped down (compacted) to the two foot level.
This type of construction has many advantages, particularly in the low cost of building material. Several pages were allotted to this in  The Whole Earth Catalogue and The Last Whole Earth Catalogue.  These publications were popular with communes in the '60s. In the 1930s the Department of Agriculture and Clemson College did research into the method of construction as well.

There are two prominent structures of rammed earth construction in South Carolina, and it was our intent to see one of them. We knew that the Church of the Holy Cross in Sumter County near the town of Stateburg was one of them.  Instead of following I-26 and I-95 for the bulk of the trip, we avoided the interstate highways and took the backroads through the open country and small towns.  The church was at 335 North Kings Highway.  The original wooden church was built on land donated by General Thomas Sumter, the "Gamecock" of the American Revolution, from whom Sumter County gets its name. The current church built in 1850-51 is a National Historic Landmark. It is of Victorian High Gothic Revival Style and constructed using the aforementioned Pise’ de Terre  method.  One method of financing was to sell pews, as was the custom, with premium pews demanding higher prices. 

Although we were unable to enter this active Anglican church we were able to enjoy its exterior beauty. As is our custom we did scout the cemetery for notables. We saw the burial places for veterans of all wars from the American Civil War to more current conflicts. 

"Claudette, I've found a grave that will make you think of Christmas," I announced.

"What? You have found a grave that will make me think of Christmas?" she asked, "What is it some more sheep carved of stone like the shepherds had in the Christmas story?"

"No," I said laughingly, "It's nothing to do with the Christmas story."

She joined me at the headstone of the grave of  Joel Roberts Poinsett. "Could the poinsettia have been named for him?" She asked.

"You're absolutely right!  When the physician, botanist, and statesman was in Mexico he brought the plant back to the U.S.A."

Soon we would leave South Carolina's only dirt church without realizing that the plantation house we saw across from the church was constructed of rammed earth also. As we were driving home, Claudette mused, "Who would believe that dirt could be so beautiful?"

"Yes, but government building codes don't allow it to be used as a building material now. No more dirt churches"