My Hometown memories

I grew up in a small town in Botetourt County, Viegina called Blue Ridge. It’s on route 460 east and in between the larger cities of Roanoke and Lynchburg and yes the mountains do have rims of blue. It is unfortunate that all of the accompanying photos except for one represent memories, as the town of my childhood is no more. Being born African American and raised in poverty, stripped me of being able to showcase my past. The cover photo is of an area we called the ball diamond and it sits at the top of what was once referred to as Ni••er Hill.

This is what the white people in the area called it. About 2 blocks away in a level area where I lived we were called the Lot Ni••era. Out of about 30 homes in the are only 4 had indoor plumbing and running water . The rest of the families did not have the money to remodel or build new homes. For this reason we all ended up moving away from the area in order to escape outdoor toilets, and shoveling coal and cutting wood to make fires to keep warm. Most houses leaked when it rained and probably needed to be torn down, but we were all happy children and enjoyed our lives. The cover photo represents changes as the name of the are is now Boxley field and owned by one of the richest families n the area.

Once, the area in the above photo was just red clay like dirt where black children played games and softball. It’s now an official softball field complete with dugout and a fence. You can see the pitcher’s mound in the picture but when I was a child we had to improvise. I find that I now appreciate the background scenerythat I did not pay attention to as a child. The mountains in the first image are absolutely breathtaking as they envelope the area. The second photo is the ball field as is today. The surrounding trees how ever have not changed and I love how the sun shines through. I guess I took it all for granted.

This is the church I attended from 1979 until 1995. It is not the church I grew up attending. Just like the majority of African American people in the neighborhood, the church I loved had to go. It was made of wood and had a tin roof. They was no plumbing, we had to use out buildings or pee in the grass that was hidden by the trees. The church was heated by a coal furnace so when there was enough money, the building you see was built. Wha was gained in the outer appearance and modern conveniences, was lost in other ways.

The sign announcing the church and the bell are located in the area where the old church used to be. This was a community church but now there are only 5 or 6 families left in the community and others now commute from out of town.

This tree is the one thing that remains. It’s at the edge of the property where I once lived. It is the only tree left as the persimmon, and cherry trees were cut down after we moved. When my friends and I climbed this tree you could clearly see each branch. Now it’s all mangled and tangled like hair that has not been comed. I can remember birds nests with eggs in the branches and seeing the baby birds after they were born. The road now has a name and it’s Colonial Rd. When I lived there it was simply a route. We have Sec to sit n or front porch and be able to view several blocks across the highway. There was a beautiful area of land on a hillside where the cows were grazing . Today as I visited the area so I could write this story, the trees on the other side of the road have grown up and now block that once breathtaking view.

This is a tombstone in the cemetery that is a few miles away. This area used to be red dirt and no grass and looked like something out of a horror movie. Now it’s being kept up but the grass is brown because it’s winter. My friends and I used to run through this area as our parents took care of the graves. The ground was soft and sometimes our feet would sink. We would scream as we though a dead person would reach up and pull us under the ground.

The final photo is all that remains of my childhood home. It’s a slab of concrete at the center of where the house once stood. The structure is gone but no one can take my memories. I hope you have enjoyed my unconventional tour of what used to be my hometown.. Im thankful to Vocal for this particular challenge as it gave me a unique way in which to relive my childhood and share it with the readers.