Blue Highways: Burnt Store and Allen's Fresh, Maryland

Unfolding the Map

Our last points of reference in Maryland are so rural that there really isn't any information on them.  The names are quite evocative, especially in the case of Burnt Store, where there probably was once a burnt store.  Have you ever received directions where instead of place names you were given landmarks?  Such directions are fast becoming obsolete in the age of Google Maps and Siri.  If you want to locate Burnt Store or Allens Fresh, I will ask you with a trace of irony to check out the Google map.

Book Quote

"...on through Burnt Store and Allen's Fresh, across the even wider Potomac."

Blue Highways: Part 10, Chapter 1

Allens Fresh, Maryland. Photo by RDrayerIII and hosted at Panoramio. Click on photo to go to host page.

Burnt Store and Allen's Fresh, Maryland

Stopping and asking for directions is becoming all but lost to American culture.  The advent of Google Maps and Apple Maps, of Siri and Google Android Map Girl, has rendered asking directions meaningless.  Today, you simply enter an address into your iPhone, iPad, Android or any other device of your choice and then sit back and let the voice tell you how far your destination is, when to turn, and that your destination is coming up on the right or the left.

There was a time when giving directions, especially in rural areas, was a work of art.  Where I grew up, people may not have known the proper addresses (I didn't even know the address of the house I grew up in until I was well into adulthood), but that didn't mean they couldn't tell you how to get there.  Directions were much more descriptive and less dependent on street names and road numbers.

How does this relate to Burnt Store and Allen's Fresh?  The names are descriptive names.  Burnt Store most likely got its name because at sometime in the past, a store or a storehouse burned there, though I can't find any corroboration of this.  Most likely for some time afterward, the store or storehouse stood as a landmark, and when people gave directions they probably said "go down past the burnt store and turn right."  Allens Fresh, I'm guessing, refers to the waterway that runs into the Wicomico River right where the highway passes.  I'm assuming, though again I can find no proof of this, that a family by the name of Allen owned a piece of land along this waterway.

The point is, names and landmarks were that which identified important points of reference.  Before Google Maps, before Siri, when one asked directions one got a sequence of landmarks, whether they still actually physically existed or not but had an existential reality, and that's how places were navigated.  The directions one might have been given would be something on the order of "go about one and a half miles until you see a large oak tree in a field on your right.  Turn along the fenceline and follow it up the hill until you reach a little spring that runs under the road.  That's Compey's Spring.  Keep going past that spring for another little piece until you see a burned stump.  Turn left, go over the bridge and around the bend, cross the railroad tracks at Emile's and you'll be there when you see the red barn on the hill."  Notice, no road or street names, just landmarks.

Nowadays, I get upset when I'm driving and I can't read the street signs.  Someone tells me that to get to their house I have to turn left on Amarillo Street, but as I'm driving through the darkness I pass the street because it is obscured by a tree branch, or it's dirty and doesn't reflect the headlights well.  Or, perhaps the street sign isn't even present.  So I drive and drive and only, after I'm a mile past the street and already late, do I realize my mistake.  How much easier might it have been to tell me to turn left at the street just after the Sonic burger joint?

Of course, with Siri and Google Maps, it's supposed to be so much easier now.  And in truth, when they work they are a marvel.  However, occasionally coverage drops, and then you're out of luck until you get coverage again.  Sometimes the application doesn't have the most updated maps or routes, especially in areas with new roads or streets.  There have even been reports of such applications putting people in danger and actually leading them to their death.  A couple traveling through Nevada, a couple in Oregon, an article advising people not to trust their GPS devices in Death Valley.  On a recent trip, when my wife and I were trying to drive in San Francisco, she turned on the GPS to help navigate using Google Maps, and sometimes we were led down the wrong path.  I knew San Francisco pretty well since I used to drive there a bit, but it was still disconcerting to know that I was on the wrong street.

I'm not necessarily an advocate of going back to a pre-Siri, Google Maps existence, but I am aware that GPS and phone navigation apps that use it are yet another way in which we become disconnected with the world around us.  When the navigational apps work, I don't have to pay attention to what's outside of the car.  The app tells me when and where to turn.  I don't have to look for the gnarled and bent tree at the side of the road, or the broken old windmill where I make a right at the fork in the road.  I just listen to the computerized voice tell me what to do.

So, here's a challenge for you, Littourati!  The next time you are tempted to get out the navigational app, stop and ask directions instead, especially if you have some time.  You'll meet someone!  The directions may get you where you need to go.  Or you may get fantastically and hopelessly lost, and have to ask directions from someone else you meet.  You'll pay more attention to your surroundings, and most likely see something interesting that may even demand that you stop and investigate.  You may have an adventure.  The navigational app won't go away unless you lose your phone.  But without it, you may just allow yourself to interact with your world in a way that is becoming more and more rare.

Musical Interlude

A terribly cheesy country song by Billy Currington called Good Directions, with a cheesy fan-made video to match.  See, if you ditch the navigation apps, you just might find your true love!

If you want to know more about Burnt Store and Allen's Fresh...

You are out of luck.  There is nothing I can find of substance on these two hamlets.  I guess you'll just have to go there!

Next up: Osso, Goby, and Passapatanzy, Virginia

Blue Highways: Savannah, New York

Unfolding the Map

We drive through Savannah and a few miles past, eventually coming upon some guys fixing a Trans-Am.  What is it about guys and cars?  I explore why I didn't catch the car bug in high school, and how sometimes I wish I would have.  Get an oil change, then drive over to the map to find Savannah.

Book Quote

"At Savannah, I found the unmarked road to Conquest (down the highway from Victory) easily enough, but staying on it was another matter...After some miles, I had no idea where I was.  I called out to five fellows pouring something into the crankcase of a Trans-Am.  These were the men who believe in the restorative power of STP as the Chinese believe in rhinoceros horn."

Blue Highways: Part 8, Chapter 5

Savannah, New York. Photo at the Wayne County Democratic Committee website. Click on photo to go to host site.

Savannah, New York

In my hometown, there were always people my age and older when I was in high school that always worked on cars.  I was not one of them.

In fact, it is still of considerable consternation to me that I did not learn any practical skills in carpentry, plumbing or in the electrical or mechanical arts.  I think to myself now how handy those skills would be and in some senses, I feel robbed that I didn't get any of this type of training.

My classmates in high school got interested in those types of skills because their fathers knew how to do them, and taught them.  They might spend a weekend with their father changing the oil or putting in a rebuilt carburetor in the family car or on their dad's truck.  When they got to the age where they could drive, they'd buy an old car and spend hours getting it into shape.  They'd help their fathers on building projects around the house, or replace some pipe underneath the house.

My dad didn't know how to repair cars.  He had some carpentry skills but was too impatient to teach me.  He'd tell me to go do something else until, it just became a matter of course for me to do something else rather than help him.  He thought he had some plumbing skills, but he really didn't have much.  And he didn't know anything about electrical systems.  The one skill he taught me the most? Gardening.

Today, I know people who can do basic things such as change their own oil, saving them a lot of money over the long haul at the service shop.  I know people who have skills in carpentry and use those skills to do everything from make minor repairs to build kitchens to build room additions to even build entire houses.  I know some people who know enough about electricity that they can make repairs to wall outlets and circuit breakers.  I know some people who can fix a drain or get under a house and make repairs to their pipes.

I can't do any of these things, and I wish I could.  When my father would do these things, I remember the camaraderie as the neighbors would come over and check out what we were doing, and sometimes get involved and help out.  Mr. Sindel, Mr. Moser, and a number of other people helped my dad build our deck, dig our well, and build our room addition.  During this time they talked about things that happened in the neighborhood, gossiped and shared stories and jokes.

I observed the same phenomenon with people who worked on cars.  My friends who worked on their own Trans-Ams, Camaros, Corvettes or even less sporty cars such as El Caminos and F-150 pickups always had someone helping them do some sort of repair.  They'd talk and argue about what needed to be done and get closer to each other as they shared tasks and shared their lives.  If one had a problem with his car, the other would come help and vice-versa as the situation required.  It's not as if I didn't have friends, as my previous post made clear.  However, I just didn't have avenues for a project or hobby, such as fixing cars, that might have given me more society.  I didn't even have a car until I was 18, and then I had an accident with my mother's car, a Capri, and had to give up mine to her (which turned out to be a terrible car anyway).

I didn't have any of that, and didn't really find that kind of camaraderie until I left my town, graduated from college and started volunteering in the inner-city, which gave me a community of like-thinking and acting people.  After that, my communities tended to be on the highbrow side, centering around education or social justice.  There was nothing wrong with my communities, but discussions tended to be academic or about what was wrong with the world.  Sometimes, however, one finds oneself wanting connection around less complex issues, where the metaphors of our existence in the universe can be embodied in a busted piston, or in an improperly hung door, or in the electrical mysteries behind a wall.

As I write this post, my neighbors across my street have about four or five vehicles parked in their front yard - projects in various states of completion.  I remember in my hometown similar places, with vehicles and shells of vehicles sitting in people's yards.  Occasionally you might even see a dismantled semi or bus rusting away in the yard.  I remember people talking about making visits to junkyards to see if they could find a working part that they needed for their engine.  And even today, I think to myself how valuable it might be to take a course on basic car repair because, I've learned, there are a lot of people like me.  I used to think that cars were a part of the male genetic makeup, and that somehow I missed out on that gene.  Of course, that's not true.  There are women who spend a lot of time under the hood, and there are men like me who barely know how to find a dipstick, or change a battery.

I realize now that I wasn't necessarily lacking something.  I was just never given the opportunity to find out if I might like using my hands mechanically, or in carpentry or some other skill.  And while I can't complain about my life, I do feel that I missed out on an important opportunity.  In another life, perhaps I might have been bent over a Trans-Am with a couple of other guys, just like LHM happened upon near Savannah, New York, trying to decipher the mystery of life, death and love in the intricacies of a transmission.

Musical Interlude

I found this song, Pretty Good at Drinkin' Beer by Billy Currington, for this post.  I also think I found my new life's ambition.  Just kidding.  I relate to most of the song - the singer tells about how he's not very good at the usual activities that men do, including fixing cars, but he is "pretty good at drinkin' beer."  I actually am pretty good at it too, especially a good hoppy IPA.

And here's Queen with an anthem called I'm in Love with My Car.

If you want to know more about Savannah

Town of Savannah
Wayne County Historian: Savannah
Wikipedia: Savannah

Next up: Conquest and Cato, New York