As we left Hotlanta we knew that we were heading into Deliverance country. Well, not exactly the backwoods of the south with its inbred brethren, but rather just deeper into Dixie. Deeper into Klan country and deeper into the short lived confederacy.Montgomery was our first stop. Montgomery is a storied place. A history that encircles and comes back onto itself. A history that spans from the early days of “King Cotton,” to the civil war, to the civil rights movement.
Today, Montgomery seems like one of those southern towns that just never really got out of the 1950s. Of course Starbucks has planted itself on plenty of street corners and there are too many Wal-Marts to count, but something about the feel of the place never changed. The traffic moves slower, as if there was no reason in the world to move faster. The people speak with a slow drawl that reminds me of molasses rolling downhill.
We had spent most of that day in Atlanta so we got into Montgomery late and headed straight to the RV Park – the only camping in a 50 mile radius. By that time we had been used to freezing cold nights (where do those hobos go for the winter?) and we were expecting another one.
I walked into the office and asked about getting a camping spot. The lady behind the counter looked up at me, and in her thick molasses drawl explained, “we ain’t set up for no tents.” As I strained to comprehend the slow words oozing from her mouth, I let her know that we have camped at many RV parks before and that any place to put our tent, including an RV site, would be fine. “You know it’s gonna freeze tonight, ya’ll aren’t gonna freeze to death on my property, are ya?” She said, almost sounding more concerned with the negative publicity two human popsicles being hauled off to the city morgue might create. I assured her that I knew the weather report and that while it was expected to be 33 degrees that night, that we had camped in and survived much colder weather. She gave me a skeptical look, but gave me a spot anyway. As I walked out she quipped, “I hope ya’ll got cozy sleeping bags.” I laughed.
The night was cold, but still not our coldest. We boiled some water for noodles and made one of my specialties – a sliced apple grilled cheese sandwich. No freezing weather could stop me from enjoying such a delicious meal. Just as we were done eating a man and his son started walking toward us. I put my hand on the knife in my pocket and said hello. He started to explain “you’sa checked in with my wife earlier tonight.” “Yes sir, I did” I said. “Well, we’re pretty worried about you freezing to death out here. I got some fire wood out back. That’d keep you pretty warm I reckon.” Mylinh and I look at each other. “Thanks so much, but I think we’ll be heading to bed soon so the fire won’t be necessary.” “Well, it’s there if ya’ll start to freeze.” “Thanks again.” He walked away clearly still worried about the dead bodies he’d have to pull out in the morning.
On the below freezing morning we scurried to put in some laundry (much to the relief of our friends we’d be seeing in a few days.) Our first stop was the F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald Museum. This was a last minute addition to our itinerary, but as we are both fans of F. Scott it was well worth the stop. The museum is housed in the author’s old home located in a suburban district of the downtown area.
Amid other small mansions sits the unassuming house that contained the museum. The yard and house were noticeably empty and we figured correctly that the museum didn’t exactly attract swaths of visitors. In fact, the museum receives no government funding so in order to finance the place they had to subdivide the house into apartments and rent them out. Kind of sad, but after seeing the museum it was clear they didn’t have enough stuff to fill the house anyway.
Inside, it felt a little more like a Zelda museum than F. Scott. As for F. Scott’s memorabilia they had a collection of first editions, his old typewriter and some letters he wrote including one to Ernest Hemingway. Otherwise the museum had over 15 original Zelda paintings (2nd largest collection in the world) and a significant amount of Zelda’s random possessions including her paper dolls, books and letters. The museum was worth a stop if you are already in Montgomery, but I don’t think I’d make a separate trip there.More noteworthy might be the Southern Literary Tour. An informal route that traverses all the “hotspots” of southern authors. One stop includes a trip to the courthouse in Harper Lee’s and Truman Capote’s hometown. The courthouse was replicated for the Gregory Peck film, To Kill A Mocking Bird. Every year the courthouse puts on a reenactment of the court scene from the book and movie.
On the advice of the man who ran the museum we headed to a fried chicken spot for lunch. He told us that local politicians frequent this place and to get there early. We only half believed him, but without much else to do headed there early nonetheless. The place was packed. Businessmen with suits, old ladies with blue hair, and blue collar workers with sleeveless flannels and camouflage hats filled the place. We were seated shortly after arriving and clearly needed no time pouring over the menu because all they served was fried chicken and a few sides. The fried chicken was godly. The white meat was succulent and moist. The skin crispy and tasty. The sides were over-salted and left something to be desired, but at least they did one thing right.
Next we headed on to Mobile. Mobile was a place that it seemed the modern economy had left behind. We were only spending an afternoon in the area so we decided that we’d stroll down the main boulevard to get a feel for the city. The only things along this boulevard were restaurants, bars and thrift stores. However, what was most notable was the dilapidated condition of this so-called main street. Every third business was boarded up and more than a few empty lots lined the streets.
It was as if this once bustling center of the gulf coast was merely a ghost town. While it was a Wednesday afternoon the streets were inexplicably empty and as we walked down to the gulf port at the end of the street an eerie silence hung in the air. On the brighter side, I had a delicious coconut fudge gelato milkshake.
We regretted not being able to spend more time in these historic southern cities, but our time was little and our ambitions great. We headed on into Mississippi to camp the night in Big Biloxi State Park. We got there after dark, but the morning revealed a beautiful forest surrounding us and the Big Biloxi river a mere 50 yards from our camp site. The south, for all its faults and small town feel, has many hidden treasures and beauties. While we had discovered but a fraction of them it was just comforting knowing that no matter where in America you might find yourself, it is always amazing and it will always feel like home
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