*Note: This article was written for the Spring Issue of Coumtry Rustic Magazine in 2018. Parts of it are fiction, but it does present the real workings of a company store. As far as I know, Granddaddy never owned a company store, although he did have farm complexes at each of his farms. The store at the historic district was originally built by Granddaddy for the black community in Dell ca. 1919. The rest of the history is true as it was related to me by Mom in the 1990s.
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Story and Photos by Dru Duncan
In Memory of My Grandparents. . .
On a cool spring morning in 1919, Earl Magers stood on the porch of his newest company store. It had only been three years since he and his wife Alice, along with his two toddler daughters, arrived from Missouri to the newly opened farm land in northeast Arkansas.
They came in a
Springfield covered wagon, drawn by oxen on roads that were little
more than logs and mud. All their possessions were in that wagon. The
money from the sale of their forty acre Missouri farm was well-hidden
among barrels and house goods. On every side of the corduroy road was
cut-over forest land, going for as little as fifty-cents per acre. It
was the only land that Earl could afford. They were moving from a
place of poverty to a farm of hopes and dreams. To an untrained eye,
the land was a big gamble. It was nothing but swamp, filled with
stumps left by the out-of-state loggers who came through and cut the
vast forests. Only a farmer could see the possibilities beyond the
present scenery, but Earl knew it would be choice cotton land one
day. The soil was said to be so rich a person could plant a
broomstick and it would grow. Now the stumps were cleared and the
acres upon acres of swamp drained. The fertile farmland was finally
ready for planting. He would rely on tenants to farm his land for
many years to come, since he had been able to acquire more acres than
he could personally work. Earlier in the year he mapped out the
forty-five acre plots. He knew then, as now, that when the weather
begins to warm after a long cold winter, the farmers are impatient to
get into the fields, to plant the 'White Gold' that we know as
Cotton. It wouldn't be long before the season began.
Almost one hundred years later, I stand
on the same porch, looking out over farmland as far as the eye can
see, just as my Granddaddy did that spring day. I'm anxious to hear
the giant tractors arrive to plant this year's cotton crop and to
smell the sweetness of the rich Delta soil as the discs break ground.
The same excited hopefulness for the coming farm year hangs in the
air. Yet, as nostalgic as it is on the old company store porch, it's
even more so inside.
If you have never visited an old country store, no words can fully describe how it touches the senses. The well-worn wooden floors creak underfoot. A distinct aroma of a wood stove permeates the building, mingling with the scent of kerosene and leather, produce and fresh meat. Brightly colored cans, boxes and bags line the shelves with coffee, flour, sugar, cornmeal, spices, and tobacco. In the spring, bags and barrels of crop seed line the walls, their burlap and paper bags adding an earthiness to the mix.
Spring is the time of new beginnings for the farmer, and our old company store has seen many seasons come and go. Stories from its past seem to linger in the air. It was here that Granddaddy secured contracts with the tenants to farm his company land. A line of credit was also established so that each one was able to buy seed, hoes and farming supplies, knowing that charges would be settled in the fall when the crops were harvested and sold. Tenants couldn't plant their crops without the credit extended them. By spring, the money made from the previous fall was pretty much spent. They would live on credit until another crop was raised and taken to market.
The wives also appreciated the credit
as they shopped for items such as wide-brimmed straw hats, sturdy
gloves, and possibly a new, cotton everyday wash dress, since the old
ones were faded and full of holes. In general, though, country people
bought what they couldn't grow, shoot or make themselves. In buying
seeds for the home garden, farmer's wives were particularly frugal.
Throughout the growing season of the previous year, the ladies saved
and dried as many seeds as possible to plant the next year. Okra,
peas, squash, green pepper, tomatoes and watermelon seed were among
the home inventory. At the top of their 'buy' lists were the seeds
necessary to round out their own garden, seeds such as turnip,
mustard and collard greens, celery, green beans, eggplant and hybrid
corn. They knew far too well that vegetables would feed and nourish
their families cheaply throughout the summer. Canning the extra
produce would sustain them through another winter. For the farm wife,
home gardens meant survival. The storekeeper knew this. In the
spring, eye-catching seed boxes with their bright packets were
brought to a prominent place along the aisle to tempt even the most
frugal gardener. Seeds attractively packaged stimulated more interest
and offered visual hope that this year's garden would be generous in
produce. Seed boxes were packed according to regional interests and
eye appeal, with much competition among various companies such as the
Ferry-Morse Seed Company of California, the Shaker Seed Company of
Pleasant Hill, or the W. Atlee Burpee Company of Philadelphia.
Although the stores made little profit, the colorful open display
drew the eye and imagination beyond the everyday staples.
The storekeeper also strategically placed more purchase possibilities among those boxes of seed. Nearby there were the pungent smelling onion sets, seed potatoes, and kitchen herbs in large crates and bins. Bee skeps stacked high were a temptation to spend a few extra dollars, knowing that nothing was better than cotton blossom honey drizzled over hot, buttered biscuits. New and shiny garden tools filled barrels, claiming to make the garden weeding more enjoyable. In the 1920s and on, a visit to Granddaddy's company store was like an adventure. At no other time was the store so well stocked with the promise of a new farming-and gardening-year.
Those days are gone, but Granddaddy's old company store remains the heart of our farmstead, now an historic district on the National Register of Historic Places. As in bygone days, the old store displays items appropriate for the seasons of a former time and teaches private tour groups about our Southern cotton culture. The senses are still touched with the lingering sights, sounds, and smells from decades of seasons coming and going. I often wonder what Granddaddy would think if he could see it now. Not only does the family continue to farm his land, but the history of his hard work and diligence has enriched so many others with our Delta history. I'll have to admit that many times, while working in the still, quiet of the store at the end of the day, I feel he is around, smiling and proud that after almost one hundred years, his legacy lives on.
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