Thursday, April 06, 2006

Samoa Toccoa


Rolling up Georgia Hwy 17 five days ago we slipped into the town of Toccoa without ceremony and with a decided lack of wonder. We don't fault the place for looking like just about every other place since those other places look pretty much like Toccoa so it's nobody's fault. Our sights were set above and beyond Toccoa. At that moment, however, one eye was open for a gas pump with the number "93" upon it, the other on the fuel gauge. Neither eye paid much attention to the town we were passing through like you-know-what through a goose.

Suddenly there loomed a grand mirage with a covered bridge, babbling brooks and what could pass for one's old Kentucky Home. As pastoral scenery goes, this was one for the books. The fact that this was all packed into the parking lot of an auto parts store made it all the more odd. We thought we saw Stephen Foster looking over the spark plugs in the store.

It was so realistic that we almost hit the proverbial wall since that's just what this is: a painted wall. This mural, as many like to call them, (fresco is the correct term) is beautifully done, most convincing and had it not been for our ABS braking system, we might have bought into one of the town's leading businesses, the Toccoa Casket Company where all sales are final.

Faithful readers will recall our fascination with these artistically painted masonry walls. They'd become so popular that you will see more of them on the road and many The day will come, however, when someone will lament in song or story the passing from the national scene of the plain, blank, windowless concrete wall. " Where have all the blank walls gone..." We can pass that one along to Joan Baez. She'll probably need a job by then.


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