TheBanyanTree: end of an era

[NancyIee at aol.com]

I made a run to the feed store this morning. The horses were out. The pig was 
 low. The chickens only had enough for another day or two. 
This feed store was in an old, open building, built eons ago out of rough cut 
 timbers and mill sawn local pine.  It smelled of molasses and new hay, and  
the old hound had another litter of pups she was nursing under the desk.   It 
was dusty and hot, and the pop machine chugged wearily and the worn floor  
boards creaked and the spaces between the boards was filled with old grain,  
dust, horse hair, and a million boot droppings. 
I made my order, opened a can of soda, and leaned against the desk while I  
waited for the fella to load my truck.  The gal there, who had worked in  the 
feed store since my first visit years before, was getting caught up on her  
paperwork. 
We talked about the hound's pups.  Then, she said, "better stock up.  We're 
closing out." 
"No profit in feed anymore." 
In an area where every new homeowner had an acre or two and filled it with  
horses and chickens, there was no more need for an old-time feed store. They 
all  get it delivered from some big place in town. No one wants to go to the  
dusty  old feed store, haul the fifty-pound bags home, and unload and stack  it 
in their barn themselves. I do it because I like to chat with the gal, see  
the hound's new pups, and remember old farm days when the feed mill was the  
center of society. Ifen you didn't see another person all day, you still saw the  
folks at the feed store. 
"If ya need some help out at your place, call me," the gal behind the desk  
said to me as I left.



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