Fitzgerald, Ga.
Sat., Jan. 30, 1926
Joe tried to persuade Bill to go into a real estate deal with him, but, although Bill is interested in South Georgia farm land, he is not enthusiastic about going into real estate.
Leaving Atlanta Wednesday afternoon we camped in a beautiful pine grove, in fine weather with a romantic moon, outside of the town of Griffin. We enjoyed our Atlanta sojourn, especially the old couple where we stayed.
The land in southern Georgia has more sand and less clay than farther north. Many fine farms are separated by strangely intriguing swamps, where huge live oaks, festooned with long gray moss, grow out of black swamp water, as do small scrubby palms--the first we have seen. The live oaks which also grow on dry land have small uncut evergreen leaves, quite different from northern oaks. It was exciting to see even scrubby palms, evidencing our arriving in the deep south at last.
I am still trying to get mistletoe for Mother, but it is either way up in a treetop with no way to reach it, or if gettable, in front of a home. Yesterday, however, we spotted some and Bill climbed the tree in the rain to get it. Many of the berries, unfortunately, shook off before I could pack it. We also learned today how turpentine is procured from pines. Instead of boring a hole as for maple syrup, a sliver of bark is sliced off and a container placed to catch the sap. Some pines here are so resinous that a lighted match is enough to set a log on fire.
At Perry Bill heard of a cement plant about twenty miles away at Clinchfield, the only one in this section of the south; so, of course, he wanted to investigate. We asked an old codger walking along the road how to get there. He didn’t know, because he said, he had never been there, and added, “I never go any place that I have never been before.”
The boss was away, returning the next day, so we set up housekeeping in another pine grove where I discovered two pine cones nearly a foot long, with their petals spread out like a flower.
In the morning Bill found the cement plant both modern and efficient, the quarries containing more clay and sand and less rock than those in the north; wages being lower, the production is easier and cheaper.
After leaving Clinchfield, so many conflicting directions were given us, that we found ourselves in one place when we expected to be in another. Making the best of it, we ate lunch and changed our plans.
The day was chilly and rainy, the road rotten, and I punk--either a little indigestion or the ill effect of foolishly drinking brook water. So Bill did all the chauffering in the rain and the digging in the mud when we got stuck, which happened a couple of times. Wanting to get me to a room for the night, we pushed on in the wet and dark, into this funny old inn at Fitzgerald. We hope to leave tomorrow unless it continues to rain or I continue to be ill--neither of which casualties we expect.