School's Out so Keep on Truckin'

On Saturday I set off early to drive down south to Cartersville, where I'd be meeting some urbexing friends to photograph an old school. After nearly 2 hours I neared my destination and just a few miles south from home nature was already proudly displaying her first colors of spring. I passed yellow forsythia and pear trees were exploding with bright white blossoms, like clouds of confetti. Yellow trumpeted daffodils lined the edges of the roads, trimming peoples' front yards and I spotted branches with tightly squeezed pink buds, waiting for a few more degrees of warmth before spreading their petals.

I stopped at this old bridge, built in 1884 and used to cross James River until Hurricane Agnes swept away the center in 1972. VDOT wanted to tear it down but it was saved as a historical marker, although it's sadly apparent that no restoration work has been done.

Just down the road was this fabulous cockerel atop some hay bales, appearing to be crowing for attention, and immediately across the road was the Hamilton School which we were photographing. It was easy to find, there was little else here in this tiny community, only one store combined with a gas station and very little traffic. I noticed the absence of engine noise and relished it.

Opened in 1910 to replace the small one room school, funds were raised by parents and locals. It had 112 students on its first day with 7 instructors. The auditorium and another 2 classrooms were added in 1914 with a home economics and also an agricultural building added in 1930. It's now just used for storage with the annex having been converted into a home of a lady who's now the custodian of the school. It was her that Eric had arranged today's explore for a small fee and we had the run of the place. I chatted with her before going inside the building, suggesting she should set up photography days for groups from Virginia and DC but she had no internet so had no way of reaching out. She also mentioned her lack of cable TV but it was clear she wasn't missing any of the modern technology. I admired that. A huge Great Dane peered over the fence, trying to join in our conversation. He'd been barking furiously when I arrived but our docent had soon hurried out to greet me and assure her canine guard that I was friend and not foe.

I was the first to pull up at the school and wasted no time in grabbing the opportunity to take photos with no others present. It was colder inside than out and as I stood trying to work my fingers to move the camera dials I stared at this staircase. In this light it appeared hauntingly imposing. If I had stood any longer I'm sure those doors would have started slamming on their own or a ball would plop slowly down the stairs, just like in the 1980 horror movie, The Changeling. I walked back outside again and was pleased to see another of our crew had turned up.

There was some visible decay in the building. Part of a roof had fallen in, a few of the higher windows had been blown out by the recent wind storm and a door on the side of the auditorium seemed to have suffered the same fate. The lower rooms were filled with old furniture, but none of it appealingly antique, it looked more like an exhibition had been put on for passers by. It wasn't authentic to the use of the building so I didn't take photos of any of it. The rooms upstairs were empty,

We did find a cupboard filled with old books but the blackboards had been daubed with irrelevant messages. I was intrigued with the water fountains in the hallways but had soon explored the school and taken all the photos I wanted to take. It seemed most of the group were thinking like me as we found ourselves spending most of our time in the auditorium.

This was a fabulous room with superb lighting and almost pristine chairs. We strolled back and forth shooting from every angle, a pretty little cat following us back and forth, and clearly enjoying our company. She was s chubby little thing, obviously well fed, we found her food and water bowls in the hallway, but I felt sad she didn't have a warm bed. But she didn't like being picked up for cuddles although a stroke was enjoyed so I guess she was content with her lot. At least she had shelter.

We had to pose for some group shots but didn't hang around for too long since it was cold. It wasn't until this point that I realized I was the only girl present today. I traipsed through the dusty corridors for once last look and then we bundled out of the old school, and on to our next stop.

The next place was a short car ride to what we all call The Truck Farm. I've been here twice before, as had most of the group, but we wanted to shoot it one more time as we'd heard that the owner had died. This was sad news, he had been an amazing old man, still working at 93 years old when I last saw him, and I loved listening to him talk about the old trucks and how he'd acquired them all but never got around to restoring them. We were worried that the land would be sold off or left vacant, paving the way for vandals to come in, smashing glass, stealing hood ornaments and spray painting the old vehicles with graffiti. It would have been like desecrating a graveyard. We spoke to some guys working in the garage and were relieved to be told that they planned to carry on as normal and there were no plans to close down in the near future. Thankfully, we pulled out our cameras from their bags and set to photographing these old wrecks, which have been resting here for countless years, their paint and rusting bodies aging beautifully with each season of snow, rain and burning sun.

I recognized many of the vehicles as I walked around but also noticed that some I'd photographed before had gone, which made me wonder if they had been carted off for restoration or if someone had just wanted an old antique car resting on their property as an attraction. The light wasn't at its best, and we had decided we'd come back in the spring or fall to capture the sunset and do some light painting so I was struggling to get creative as I strolled between the silent hulks, new bramble shoots grasping the bottoms of my jeans. But as I walked through one of the sheds, a turn signal lens caught my eye and for the next half an hour I was absorbed in catching the light shining through the old colored glass.

Andrew had brought his light sticks along to play with but it was too light so our enthusiasm soon waned, but it had been lovely to see the old trucks again, and reassuring to hear that they'd be there for a bit longer. We left, happy to know we'd see them again and went in search of a very late lunch.