Gastonburg Presbyterian Church |
Early
pioneers settled this area in the early 1800s, and folks have been living in
and around Gastonburg for nearly two centuries. In fact, there were people
living there even before it was called Gastonburg.
According
to the book “Place Names in Alabama” by Virginia O. Foscue, Gastonburg was
first known as “Paris” and was probably named after the famous city in France.
However, when the Southern Railroad reached this point in 1887, the name was
changed to “Gastonburg” in honor of the Gaston family, who were early settlers
of the area. A post office was established there in 1891, and John W. Gaston
was appointed the town’s first postmaster.
I’ve
been through Gastonburg many times on State Highway 5, but prior to Friday I’d
never taken the time to explore the streets that make up the heart of this old town.
When I arrived, I scouted around slowly with an eye toward seeing what makes
this community unique and remarkable. As it goes, there was much to see.
As
many of you know, there are a number of beautiful homes in Gastonburg as well
as several historic churches. My first stop on Friday was at the Gastonburg
Presbyterian Church on Boiling Springs Road. Sources say that this church was
built around 1890 to replace a much older wood frame church that was built
around 1830. The 1830s church replaced an even older log church that was built
years before.
I got out for a closer look and was impressed by how much work has been
done to preserve this historic structure. As I walked back to my truck, a
gentleman on an ATV rolled by and gave me a friendly nod, and a few seconds
later a nice lady in a yard across the street exchanged “good afternoons” with
me. Back in my truck, I couldn’t help but smile when I saw that someone had
painted a nearby fire hydrant like an American flag – red, white and blue,
complete with stars.
County Road 4 runs down behind the church and where it runs into
Boiling Springs Road, you’ll see a sign that reads “Gastonburg Cemetery.” I
followed the sign and eventually found myself at the graveyard, which sits atop
an isolated hill north of the town. As I stepped out of my truck, black clouds
began to roll in and thunder rumbled like distant artillery.
I’d estimate that this old cemetery contains about 150 graves, and the
oldest grave marker that I saw belonged to Revolutionary War veteran Hugh
Gaston, who died in 1836. I strolled beneath the moss-covered trees of this
graveyard for the better part of half an hour and noted that this cemetery contains
many historic graves, including that of early postmaster John William Gaston,
who died in 1918. Heavy rain eventually cut my explorations short, so I jumped
back in the truck and returned to the town proper.
From there, as thunder boomed overhead, I drove slowly around the town
and paid a visit to the Gastonburg Methodist Church, which was built in the
1890s. I stopped for a better look and was amused by a grumpy, well-fed cat on
the front steps, riding out the rain. This cat was mostly black with a broad
collar of white fur around his throat, and he looked like he was accustomed to
having the run of the town in much calmer weather.
Last, but not least, I rode over to Macedonia Baptist Church, which is
just up Highway 5 from the main part of town. This stately old church sits well
off the highway, and I was struck by its red-colored roof and distinctive
steeple and spire. The rain slacked up just long enough for me to spend a few
minutes in the cemetery there.
In the end, as I drove home through the heavy rain, I thought about
Gastonburg and all of the people who have called it home over the years. No
doubt, my trip there on Friday provided me with just a taste of what the town
has to offer visitors. Before I even reached home, I’d made up my mind to visit
it again sometime very soon, but not before I check the color weather radar.
Are these Gastonburg churches still active, and the cemeteries maintained? I recall the Rehoboth cemetery on hiway 4 across the road from Peavy’s Southern Falls Plantation as overgrown and totally neglected. A real pity.
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