On this particular trip, my friend Mary and I stopped for lunch at the Dixie Dog; we sat at the counter, which is how we were able to hear the cook say, when she’d caught up with the lunch orders, that she was going to step outside and smoke “a piece” of her cigarette.
How can you not have a crush on a town when you can hear something like that?
the Dixie Dog
Singer/songwriter James McMurtry’s song “We Can’t Make It Here Anymore” sums it all up:
In Dayton Ohio or Portland Maine
Or a cotton gin out on the great high plains
That’s done closed down along with the school
And the hospital and the swimming pool
This town is becoming one of my favorite locations to photograph. And so it happened that on a sunny Sunday, my patient spouse and his sweet sister agreed to accompany me on a trip to see what needed its photo made. (He knew what he was in for. The Sweet Sister may have been shocked. Or bored. It was hard to tell. But she remained sweet, either way.)
Anyway, on that trip I found this weed, doing that thing that weeds do: taking over, one flower spike at a time.
It’s a big, old, leaky building. It’s full of old cars and trucks, broken (I assume) appliances, and piles and piles of clothes. This particular pile has been there so long that the coat hanger has started to rust, leaving a hanger-shaped stain on the shirt. In a rainy climate this wouldn’t take long – but Spur gets only about 23 inches of rain per year (less, lately: we’re in a drought). So, it’s been a while since that pile of shirts landed on the floor.