George Buster Singleton |
(For decades, local historian and paranormal investigator
George “Buster” Singleton published a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere
in Time.” The column below, which was titled “1800s homestead is among worthy
landmarks” was originally published in the Aug. 8, 1991 edition of The Monroe
Journal in Monroeville, Ala.)
As I travel the back roads and the forgotten trails of our
great county, I am always amazed at the many places and events that cry out to
be remembered. Nowhere in the county can one go without coming across an old
landmark or homeplace that dates back into the early 1800s.
And the family members who lived at these places during this
period of our history usually are buried in a forgotten, unkept cemetery
somewhere nearby.
Just last week, I had the opportunity to visit one such
place. The old home place that was built in the 1840s stands as a silent
reminder of what was yesterday. The giant oak tree that stood guard over the
yard and provided a cool shade for the laughing children who played nearby has
fallen victim to the ravages of man and nature. Only the old rotted stump
remains.
You can stand and look across the nearby fields, imagining
the many days of hard work, sweat and determination as a living was being
sought from the tilled soil. It takes very little imagination to picture in the
mind the maturing corn waving to and fro in the hot August afternoon.
If one should stand quietly and listen to the wind in the
large magnolia tree near the house, the sound of a blowing horn would probably
be heard, calling the field hands and the family to dinner. Listen ever so
closely and you might hear the sounds of laughter at a family get-together, as
the delicious smell of cooking meat at a Saturday afternoon barbecue rides the
evening air.
Listen for the sounds of a rattling harness as company for
Sunday dinner pulls up into the yard in a horse and buggy. See a tall,
well-dressed man dismount from the buggy and offer his arm for support to a
beautiful young lady in a long, white dress, with traces of golden-red hair
glowing from under the rim of her ribboned bonnet.
And listen for the sounds of the impatient fox hounds,
wanting to be set free from their pen to seek out the crafty red fox that has
been seen in a corner of the nearby field.
Walk around the north side of the old house and look for a
moment at a small building that is falling in decay. Listen ever so closely,
for the sounds of the blacksmith hammer as the farm plows are sharpened on the
huge, much-used anvil.
Watch for the smoke from the blacksmith’s forge as the
bellows are pumped up and down to keep the fires hot so the metals can be
worked by the sweating blacksmith. And picture in your mind the laughter and
joking as a couple of barefoot boys seek to retrieve roasted pecans from the
red-hot coals of the blacksmith’s fire.
Look once again toward the back of the house and see the
remains of the old wooden pegs that still hold the old structure together. See
the tall, door-sized windows, covered by faded green wooden shutters. See the
well-carved handiwork of the old banisters that surround the old porch. Then
look into the double doors that lead to the long hallway with the tall, high
ceilings. Envision in your mind children laughing in the old hallway, chasing
back and forth until firm orders to be quiet are heard from the kitchen.
Then turn, if you will, and slowly walk across the small
patch of high grass and down a short row of soybeans, toward the two large
magnolia trees that stand on the edge of the nearby field. Notice how the
branches of the magnolias almost touch the ground as if trying to hide or
protect something beneath them.
Move ever so closely, and look down at the old wrought-iron
fence, almost hidden in the tall weeds. See the huge granite monument that
marks the final resting places of family members who lived and died in the old
house nearby. Try to picture in your mind those who sleep in the 18 graves to
be found in the tall grass and high weeds inside the wrought-iron fence.
Names and dates look out at you from the old burial ground.
The dates 1812-1877 seem to call out to be noticed from the huge granite
marker. A closer look and the dates 1786-1873 can be found higher up the huge
marker. Smaller grave markers with only one date seemed to note children who
lived less than a year.
One could not help but notice the stillness of the large
magnolia trees that seemed to stand guard over the small burial plot. It seemed
as though the huge leaves from the great magnolias kept the August heat at a
distance, as if a cool, shaded umbrella was held by an unseen hand over the
faded, moss-covered markers.
A quick backward glance at the huge granite marker reminded
one that under the protective branches of the large magnolias, a page of
history lies unnoticed. The growing fields nearby will soon turn brown for
harvest. And the huge green leaves of the giant magnolias will also fall to the
ground to form a protective brown blanket for those who sleep beneath. The
words of the poet, Longfellow, might do well in ending:
“This is the place, stand still my steed, and let me
review the scene and summon from the shadowy past, the forms that might have
been.”
(Singleton, the author of the 1991 book “Of Foxfire and
Phantom Soldiers,” passed away at the age of 79 on July 19, 2007. A longtime
resident of Monroeville, he was born on Dec. 14, 1927 in Marengo County and
served as the administrator of the Monroeville National Guard unit from 1964 to
1987. He is buried in Pineville Cemetery in Monroeville. The column above and
all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the
microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville.
Singleton’s columns are presented here each week for research and scholarship
purposes and as part of an effort to keep his work and memory alive.)
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