Waxing More Nostalgia
From the time I was four until about age ten, I lived with my family in a little brick ranch on Hiram Lithia Road in Powder Springs, GA. The neighborhood was a row of six or seven houses just like ours, sandwiched between the busy two-lane in the front and an old dirt road in the back. Most of the families had kids, and most days, the pack of us would walk the mile or so down the dirt road to Reece's, a little general store/gas station (quite similar to the photo above but without the mountains) to spend the nickels our moms bribed us with to go buy their cigarettes.
If we kicked the dry Georgia red clay in front of us as we walked, it looked like our feet were on fire. The dirt road was lined with honeysuckle and wild rose bushes, where we'd find things like kittens or snakes or old Penthouse magazines. Sometimes, we heard strange sounds from the deep woods, and we'd plan the seance we were going to have when we got home. Just within sight of Reece's, we'd hide, either behind the trees or in some bushes, and pray to get a glimpse of the dwarf family who lived in the basement of the store. And oh, to spot the baby dwarf! Mom, dad, sister, brother, sometimes the infant in one of their arms. They were so "other" in a small town where everyone looked alike.
We had all the elements of the ideal adventure: an interesting journey, grave danger (If Mr. or Mrs. Reece caught us spying, they wouldn't let us get our Zero bars and Chico Stix.), and the possibility of discovering that treasure at the end.