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"Excerpts from the "Sunny South"

Submitted By: Michelle Doss

These stories appeared in the literary journal entitled, "Sunny South." The article's were written by Caroline Adeline Foster , writer & daughter of Capt. & Malissa Foster of Foster's Store, GA. I am trying to pinpoint the location of the old brown schoolhouse portrayed in the recollection of her youth. Also, trying to figure out where the gate, waterfalls and brook were. Believe all of this to be near Hazel Kerce's place.....???? Any help would be greatly appreciated. Thanks, Michelle.

Beautiful May- My Chum

I had other friends among the pupils in the little old brown schoolhouse at the end of the lane-but no so far as her. May's wit was wonderful. Her love
of fun and mischief was equal to my own. We must have been a trial to our teachers. One of these was a young man, blue-eyed, energetic and rather
conceited. One day during, the noon recess, May and I proceeded to fill the blackboard with "crayon portraits" of our friends and family. The teacher,
"his royal highness'-was presented and true to life -his prominent ears, a distinguishing feature, being made to stand out like the wings of a pigeon
about to take flight. When the afternoon bell rang, the young professor rose from his seat and called out," Whoever has so lavishly displayed their artistic powers may get up and rub off the board." We rose to obey, our cheeks as scarlet as a poppy.

Another tale.......
Such chunks of good old fashioned ginger bread as Johnny Jones' doting mother would cram into his lunch basket! May and I would help ourselves to a
big slice each and with our heads in our desks, would enjoy it, "during books." Another trick was to fill a palm leaf fan with water and when our
dandyfied teacher stopped near our desk to elucidate some problem one of us had purposely called onto explain, the other would innocently and leisurely
fan herself, contriving to throw the drops of water over the professor's face. Our happy school days came to an end, leaving our education about of the
order as described by a small brother of mine, who had been left at home to entertain the preacher. In speaking of our two older sisters, he said, "Yes,
they are graduated, but they ain't educated."

After leaving school, May came out; I had three older sisters, so I remained in the background. May became the reigning belle of the country all around.
She was followed by dozens of adoring suitors, while less favored girls looked away in envy, Paul Gordon would have walked through fire for her,
while she treated him as a queen would her servant. Gallant, warm-hearted Jack Surtees, her neighbor and childhood sweetheart, loved her with undying
devotion. But May's heart went to handsome, reckless Phil Stewart, and one winter night the bells rang for their wedding. Phil took his bride to their little home. They had a "cottage and a cow." Plenty of plain food and love to season it. But a cloud, that was "a no bigger than a man's hand" when they were wedded, grew rapidly larger. The little hacking cough provided to be the warning of the dread disease, consumption..

In a few months beautiful May again wore her white wedding dress, but now death was her bridegroom. Phil's dashing light-heartedness never came back; loving, loyal Jack never mated. Showing the photograph of May to a friend, he said: "There is the only girl I ever loved." I loved her too, Jack. My merry, radiant chum, her memory is still dear to..........................
Bachelor Girl. (Caroline Adeline Foster b. 1869)

Taken from the "The Dearest Picture in the Gallery"-By Bachelor Girl (Carrie Adeline Foster)

Today I gaze on one of the fairest pictures in my memory- the childhood home of my youth. Look at it with me. Do you see where the public roads fork? In the forks stand a country store with the post office, the blacksmith shop, and the cotton gin, and the tenant houses dotted about, giving the farm the appearance of a village. (She is referring to Foster's Store, Ga.) Open the big gate at the store and see the drive through a magnificient oak grove ,
carpeted with blue grass, up to the large rambling farmhouse. To the right the orchard, to the left the clover field. The lane leading out to the old
brown schoolhouse, where I squandered the golden moments, daydreaming...... . Look at the rear, and see the meadow , the brook, where I waded with the ducks and geese. Beyond the lie the fields, but to me the grandest is old Dirtsellar, with it's soft budding trees in springtime . For it was then, I
could hear the water as it roared and rushed foaming over the falls and down the mountainside.
Going to the brow of the hill in the barnyard, I could entertain myself by singing and calling to imaginary people on the mountain side. Listening to
the echo as it came back to me, sometimes . To me it was wonderful and mysterious. Then what exquisite pleasure to watch the soft moonlight spread
over the valley, listen to katydids, to hear the hunter's horn and hounds responding to the chase of a red fox on the mountain and to breathe the soft
night air redolent of the breath of roses and of the honeysuckle and wisteria that ran in rich luxuriance over the moss-covered roof of the porch.

Edited by Michelle Doss( a descendant of the Foster family of Chattooga Co, GA)

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