The voices I hear….
I don’t know what it is about old rundown places that attract me so much. Maybe it’s the historian in me, or maybe it’s the photographer, I don’t know. What I do know is that there are times when I’m working around some of these old places and if I stop and listen, and close my eyes, I can see these places in their heyday.
This little community is one of those places. At one time, this must have been a thriving little village of sorts. Located in the Texas panhandle, I imagine this was big time cotton country back in the day (and still is today). I don’t know if this was group of sharecroppers or what – but there were nearly a dozen or so buildings together and all very much falling apart. Closing my eyes, I can hear the daily activities – women working around the houses, children running around playing and getting into trouble – dinner conversation with the men when they returned from working the fields. Today, however, all there is to be heard is the wind through the trees and the sound of some of the lower branches scratching against the roofs and walls of these old houses.