|J. Montrell-Stark Photography – Cottonwood Corner
Once upon a time there was a race track on the corner. Only a mile from our home, the weekend racing noises filtered into our bedroom window making sleep difficult. Daddy and Arthur Bullion took me with them one muggy summer night. Seeing cars crash and smash was thrilling.
When the whistle blows, factory workers drive past, thankful another shift has ended. Farmers haul grain to the river without a glance to the rubble where the grocery story stood—the grocery store where Daddy sent me off driving, alone, to buy cartons of Camel, before I was old enough to have a license.
Wrong on so many levels…but oh so right.
Although there’s nothing much to look at now, the weary sign marking the empty spot is a historical marker to me.