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| The big road in Crab Orchard, Kentucky, is US 150, which began as the northwest leg of the Wilderness Road blazed by Daniel Boone and others. But now the federal route bypasses the town of 700-plus, leaving KY 39 as Main Street. |
Kentucky Route 39 is a two-track strip of pavement running out of horse country near Lancaster, Ky., that cuts right through the heart of Crab Orchard — one of the bypassed villages scattered all across the country.
No Trader Joe’s, no Sam’s Club or Costco — just an abandoned movie house, and some closed cinder block storefronts. I’ve passed by several times, but decided to stop the other day.
I was kneeling in the middle of the highway, framing the movie house when a car pulled up behind me. It was a police cruiser. The window came down and the officer said: “Did you get your shot?” I said I did, and he said: “OK, I thought you might want me to stop traffic while you worked.”
He was the first car I had seen in the 20 minutes I had been there.
Later when focusing on a faded wall with a Coca-Cola sign rapidly disappearing, another gentleman stopped by in an older pick-up.
“Whatcha doin’?”
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| There's still a place to eat, on the former US 150 (now KY 2750). |
I was kneeling in the middle of the highway, framing the movie house when a car pulled up behind me. It was a police cruiser. The window came down and the officer said: “Did you get your shot?” I said I did, and he said: “OK, I thought you might want me to stop traffic while you worked.”
He was the first car I had seen in the 20 minutes I had been there.
Later when focusing on a faded wall with a Coca-Cola sign rapidly disappearing, another gentleman stopped by in an older pick-up.
“Whatcha doin’?”
 |
| The theater still advertises its last movies. To enlarge any image, click on it. |
“I’m documenting the town, “ I said.
“Well, if you need anything, let me know, I’m on the town council and I can show you around.”
I told him about meeting the police officer.
He said: You didn’t meet an officer — you met the entire Crab Orchard police force.
Nice people, nice town. Glad I stopped.
I hope they get the funds to restore the theater. I will send a check.
“Well, if you need anything, let me know, I’m on the town council and I can show you around.”
I told him about meeting the police officer.
He said: You didn’t meet an officer — you met the entire Crab Orchard police force.
Nice people, nice town. Glad I stopped.
I hope they get the funds to restore the theater. I will send a check.
Crab Orchard is in Lincoln County, where the Bluegrass gives way to Appalachia. Yarmy told The Rural Blog, "Little adventures like this one is what I think is meant by the cliché 'stop and smell the roses'." More photos from his sojourn in Crab Orchard are at https://www.flickr.com/photos/140962699@N06/albums/72177720304074291.
1 comment:
I know Dick Yarmy as a friend and neighbor. I know of his sensitivity expressed in conversation on a regular basis over coffee, breakfast, or a morning walk in our neighborhood. When he mentioned his visit to this little town, hovering on the edge of the past, I asked him to further the link to me. I am reminded of my own birth and early childhood in a similar town in Alabama. Roanoke did not survive the bypass to speed the passing travelers headed for Panama City, Florida or even the south Alabama beaches. What had been a busy town with a Main Street full of businesses, cafes, drug stores, hardware, the Alabama Power Company offices, and the Martin Theater and others is now empty of most. Not just 'most', but almost all. I recall Saturdays where no parking spaces were easily found, farmer families in town for supplies and socializing, and a line of children of all ages, hands clutching a dime to get into the Saturday double feature. It was a normal life for me at age 10 and no one was worried about violence or a kidnapping. I never felt anything but being safe in my town. I am an octogenarian now and relish my memories and recognize my good fortune in my childhood. Thanks to The Rural Blog and to Dick Army for my mindful visitation this morning.
Mike Stevenson, Black Mountain, NC
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