muddys.org

I’m horrible with dates. I’m horrible with names. But I never forget a face. Not that names and faces matter a whole lot with my time in Atlanta. I never have been quite sure what we were doing there. My dad apparently started his own business over there. Something to do with recording and\or sound equipment I think. I should ask about that I guess. Initially we lived in a hotel which was great fun primarily because it had a pool. I don’t remember the room itself or how long we were there but I do remember the pool.

Our house was one of the first being built in the subdivision. It sat on top of a little hill and had a big backyard behind which there were woods. Initially there were just 4 or 5 houses on our street eventually turning into many homes. I got my first bike there and used to ride it down the long sloping hill towards the entrance of the neighborhood. There was a curve at the end of the street that always had dirt covering it. I slid around that curve several times getting road rash several times. Heading in the opposite direction the road ended for a while until they finished building the road that wound back around to the exit of the subdivision. I can remember seeing a chain gang working on that road. The best part, however, were the woods.

You could walk out the back of the house and go deep into the woods where you could find all sorts of things. First there was what I assume was an abandoned pig pen based on the old corn cobs lying around. Next to it was a huge persimmon tree. We used to have persimmon battles hurling the big orange fruit at each other. Going back even further, the woods consisted of a huge stand of pine trees with a blanket of pine straw on the ground. The ground was level and there were virtually no weeds or underbrush beneath the tress. What was so cool were the old abandoned cars scattered among the pines. Old cars. 1930’s and 1940’s automobiles with the doors and the hoods off and their engines removed. I would spend hours back in those woods playing.

I went to the first grade in Atlanta. I don’t remember the name nor do I remember any of the kids there but I do remember what the school building looked like. I can also recall my teacher although I haven’t clue of her name.

My fondest memories of living in Atlanta were Sunday mornings when we would often go out to the airport and eat breakfast. All of that has changed now but back then you could sit in the restaurant while looking through the big glass walls  as the planes took off and landed. It was big fun.

We were there a year give or take. My mother hated Atlanta and would always get lost every time she tried to go anywhere. I don’t know why we left but I can only assume it was because as great as Atlanta is it wasn’t home. So we moved back to Fairfield.