for example, is referred to as the hurler. The catcher is the backstop, and the batter is the striker. Standing beneath a hastily-constructed tent with my brother, we watched the Brewmasters face the Grinders (in case you were wondering, the Brewmasters won 14-8). With the 18th annual Drivin’ the Dixie under our belts, we drove along barren roads towards my grandpa’s house – along the way, we passed miles of corn and soybean fields and an elderly man smoking a cigarette outside of a Dollar General. As the conversation faded and the only sound was the comforting roar of the engine, I began thinking about the 68th annual Drivin’ the Dixie (that is, if a. Dixie Highway is still around and b. if the event is still running, no pun intended). Although admittedly trite, I imagined driving with my grandkids along this stretch of Dixie Highway. Even though the ‘vintage’ car I would probably be driving (in this possible future) would most likely be a 2008 Prius as opposed to a 1929 Model A, I thought about the familiar sites I pass on a daily basis and take for granted. The thrift store where I buy records, the brewery where my family has enjoyed countless dinners, and the coffee shop where I spend hours laughing – and crying – with close friends. Thinking about the future of these places – and the memories housed within them – can lead to hours of postulating and emotions ranging from wonder to intense melancholy. Regardless of the fate of these structures, however, I know their memory will stay alive in the minds of those who inhabited them. After all – along Dixie Highway, a dilapidated brick structure cannot be taken at face value; at one point in time, my great-grandpa was receiving the keys to a brand-new Studebaker.
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