Rural Ruins

Thoughts from a rubble rouser

You won’t realize the value of it until it is gone. Like the green-blue trees that covered the mountains back home, once a treasure is gone it cannot be replaced. Be sure to look at what you have. Understand the value of it. Understand the fragility of it.

me

Three red dots mean “ABC Package Store” which is code in the South for a place you can purchase liquor and only liquor. This gas station had two entrances one was for liquor and one was for everything else.

I am intrigued by the dilapidated buildings dappled around the south. Not so much, the decaying doublewide trailers that may or may not still be inhabited. The structures that catch my eye and get me pondering their story are the very old shacks and shanties. The white house with a tree erupting out the roof near the chimney. The little seafoam green gas station and “package store” near my house that I have been told by the daughter of the proprietor has not been opened or stepped into since he passed away. What’s in there? I wonder, how could they not be tempted to peak inside, pillage the shelves for old timey trinkets, sell off the vintage gas tanks, sell me the beautifully weathered doors. But alas, there it sits, sinking further and further into history, slowly losing any of its recognizable features and practical use. Is it useless? What does this little building mean to the town inhabitants? What does it mean to Sue and her family? Will they ever say, “Enough of this” and knock it down to make room for progress? These are the things I think of as I drive past. Finally, I stop and photograph it with plans to paint it someday.

The green gas station lost its red dots years ago and all that remains is the white circles where the paint is just a little more preserved that the rest of the wall leaving a faint shadow of the story it used to tell. This used to be the hub of the community, the place to catch up on gossip, gather refreshment and fuel up.

The other day, I heard the concept of “ planned ruin.” An art show was talking about intentionally leaving an ancient building to decay in style so artists could appreciate it and paint it. I looked up “planned ruin” and read some building concepts about creating a structure so grand and timeless that it would be worth while to let it gradually go back to nature like the colosseum or a temple.

That got me wondering further about the rural ruins nearby. I am quite sure these modest mounds weren't built with longevity in mind. Most are quite humble.

With so much history around this area, maybe people are more inclined to appreciate watching something drift away.

Going to ruin as a good thing is a curious notion nowadays with so much throw away construction. No one will think twice about bulldozing something from this cookie cutter age.

As I still have no idea why these buildings persist, I continue to be drawn to them, picturing them in the golden hour as the rays of light kiss their peeling walls and the climbing ivy changes in the seasons.

I hear them saying, “Time is running out. When I am gone, who will remember? Who will miss me? What will replace me?”

I think I will have to answer with paintbrush in hand and say, “I am listening, I would love to tell your story.“

here is another little beauty that called to me.