Just Doodling

According to the History of Butts County, Georgia, William H. Jenkins married Mrs. Nancy H. Crumbly way back when and settled five miles northwest of Jackson where the Southern Railway was later situated. Thus born was Jenkinsburg.

Other folks joined the Jenkins family. Folks with names such as Bankston, Harris, Kimbell, Strickland, and Whitaker followed suit. I don’t expect they figured on so much commercial, retail and industrial development trickling in from the county line 144 years later. I can’t blame them. I couldn’t boast the foresight a mere five years ago.

I sat in on my first Jenkinsburg city council meeting in 2005. Several council members offered me a Coca-Cola while Eugene Wells offered me his comfortable high-backed chair. I happily gave up my uncomfortable low-backed wooden chair.

I heard about 30 minutes of the 45 minute meeting. Fifteen minutes was drowned out by trains. The council members were used to it; they continued to talk. And the mayor seemed nervous every time I put pen to paper during those 30 minutes. One time I showed him I was just doodling.

Look, I’m just doodling, I said. It didn’t ease his nervousness.

Come summer, the council had something to get really nervous about. Folks ended up leaving their garden hoses going overnight and then they showed up at the council meeting saying they didn’t know why their water bill was $350 more than it was last month. I think the council cut them a fair-handed deal most of the time. But I remember a few folks who quoted scripture and got red in the cheeks and neck and pointed a lot. That generally didn’t prompt the council into cutting a deal. Sugar, vinegar, etc. The rules of engagement are often learned when it’s too late to apply them.

Just glance at “Stroll Down Memory Lane” from time-to-time. You’ll see mention of a rock quarry or bypass or industry—along with a pleading for and an arguing against alike. Despite the laws of time and space, these things continue to confound and occupy the minds of Butts Countians. They’ve occupied my mind on occasion, too.

A city gazebo, painting the water tower, old assisted living home, and t city emblem are things that have occupied minds of Jenkinsburgians—at least in the past five years. But Jenkinsburg has painted its water tower, and created a city emblem. The gazebo and home remain in limbo—I believe—some wishing for one’s existence, and the demise of another.

Some things don’t change. Many things do. Lots of businesses have opened up in a little time. I keep telling Chief Riley BJ’s has the best hamburger in Butts County. And he continues to say Jenkinsburg is too far to drive for a hamburger despite me driving to Jenkinsburg over and over again for a hamburger. He’s missing out on their fried chicken gizzards, too. Word has it Jenkinsburg secret-weapon Wesley Keber willingly served as taste-tester for those jaw-exercising chunks of weird. I have yet to confirm that, though.

I can confirm my favorite county home is in Jenkinsburg. As luck would have it, the home sits directly across from BJ’s. It’s big, and white, and has a spectacular tiled tin roof. If you live in this big, white, spectacular tile tin roofed home, I’d like to tour it. Please invite me. Unquantifiable and great—that’s not only this home, but also many other people, places, and things in Jenkinsburg.

The place itself has and continues to provide the launching pad for some great human achievements. George Wilson “Toots” Caston lived in Jenkinsburg, but he spent most of his time at this place Butts Countians call the “barbecue stand.” A testament to the remarkable city soil, Caston also grew some reportedly fine tomatoes. Michael Brewer, Caston’s grandson, swears they were near perfect—tart and acidic. I never had them, but Joe Harris’s tomatoes fit that description. No summer breakfast is complete without them; ditto for dinner.

I wonder if the Jenkins family grew tomatoes. I wonder if they ate chicken gizzards. I’m sure they didn’t have $350 water bills, and no one could have offered them a Coca-Cola for another 25 years.

I’m glad the trains still roll, and the big, white, spectacularly tile roofed home sits across from the hamburger too good not to drive to. Keep changing, Jenkinsburg. And keep staying the same.