June 4-5
Driving and the heat had wiped us out, so we stayed in place and hid out at the Comfort Suites in Sumter, S.C.
That’s when I wrote the last report. I may have taken a nap, too. Who can remember what happened on a lazy day like that?
We learned of a place not far from us, the Simply Southern Bistro, where we had dinner.
Joanna had grilled salmon. It was supposed to come with a dill sauce, but she passed on that.
I had shrimp and grits, very creamy with slices of sausage and bits of sweet pepper.
We both had collard greens, a bit spicy, as they often are in the South. Joanna got through maybe half of hers before she had to call it quits.
Next day we set out for a county seat called Bennettsville. It’s a short run, maybe two hours if we drove straight through.
I wanted to give us plenty of time to stop on the way, though, because we were going to pass something that I had just learned about—the Pearl Fryar Topiary Garden in Bishopsville.
Bishopsville about a half hour drive from Sumter. The garden is on Broad Acres Road, just off U.S. 15.
When I first saw the name it suggested a rich lady who gave money to a public works project. But no, it’s better than that. Pearl Fryar is a man who lives in a ranch-style house with a large yard, just outside Bishopsville.
He has created a fanciful acre of wonders—arches and cones and layer cakes shaped from boxwood and conifers. It’s punctuated with something he calls “junk art,” structures of scrap metal welded into shrine-like standing structures, mostly about four or five feet high.
It looks like something out of Dr. Seuss, one of my favorite writers.
According to the bio on Wikipedia, Pearl Fryar is the son of sharecroppers. He served in Korea and worked for a Coca-Cola bottling plant in New York. When he retired he wanted to move into Bishopsville, but was denied entry.
The white population of the town said he might not be able to keep his property up to local values.
So he settled just south of town and decided to prove them wrong.
He picked up plants discarded by local nurseries and tended them in his yard.
Some people have written about visits in which they have met Fryar. We weren’t so lucky. I’m sure he can’t come out to meet everybody who stops here.
To get an idea of the effect he has had, you only need to ask Google to look up “Pearl Fryar,”
My favorite bit is the double arch that looks like two horns coming together. If you view it from one side, though, you see the carving of a dinosaur.
Now Fryar has plenty of neighbors and they appear to have picked up his spirit. Yard after yard down this cul-de-sac has hedges like mushrooms or hats or fountains. You can get the street view on Google Maps.
We spent the best part of an hour walking around this man’s yard and snapping photos. Some things, like the hedge of carved trees, for instance, just didn’t translate into two dimensions.
Scenery is like that. You need a pro to get it right.
We reached Bennettsville a little after one. Much to our surprise, the Quality Inn had a room ready.
It seems a school graduation had drawn a lot of visitors to the area, and they had been booked up the day before. The cleanup crew was in the lobby taking lunch and told the lady at the desk that there was a room ready on the first floor.
We drove downtown to take a walk. It was Saturday and almost everything was closed.
There were few people on the street and few cars.
Apparently most businesses in the old town are supported by the people who work for the county government.
The anchor of the neighborhood is an impressive courthouse, which is always a black hole that draws a galaxy of lawyers and bail bondsmen.
We found a small park with a couple of historic buildings, both of which had been moved from their original sites and preserved here.
One was a clapboard one-room schoolhouse called the Old Female Academy. The name seems ambiguous: the academy for old women? Or the old academy for girls?
The other building was much larger. It was the house of a local doctor and had been used by Sherman as his headquarters when his troops occupied the town in 1865.
Most restaurants that weren’t fast-food brands were closed. We had dinner later at Fiesta Tapatia, which I believe is local.
Joanna wanted to try a margarita. The menu listed a range of fruit drinks available as margaritas and daiquiris. The waiter explained that the drink was a margarita if it was made with tequila and a daiquiri if it was with rum.
Joanna got a mango margarita. It was very sweet and not too strong. I had a couple of glasses of a house red listed on the menu as “Burgundi.”
We shared an order of chicken and beef fajitas. I hadn’t had fajitas in long while and enjoyed the tangy flavor of the marinade. Joanna thought they were a little dry. I had some wrapped in a tortilla, but mostly mixed them with my refried beans and rice.
When the bill arrived, I saw one entry, “FyA.” What? Like a dummy, it took me a few seconds to remember “frijoles y arroz.”
Next day was mostly on the road. We decided to make one long drive to Appomattox, about four to five hours, and stay two nights there, rather than make a string of one-night stays.
It worked fine. We even got lost around Greensboro.
We were supposed to pick up U.S. 29 north from I-85, but didn’t see any connection. We stopped well east of where we were supposed to be and consulted the paper map. We found some alternative routes that would get us to U.S. 29 at a town called Reidsville.
We wound up taking three North Carolina routes: 61 to Osceola, 150 to Williamsburg, and 87 to Reidsville. Maybe 20 miles in all, and a lot more fun than the Interstate.
This time, when we crossed the state line into Virginia, Joanna got the whole message on the sign.
We stopped at a welcome center at Danville and learned that this indeed is the place where Old 97 was wrecked. According to Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs, "It's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville and a line on a three-mile grade. It’s on that grade that he lost his airbrakes. You see what a jump he made.”
I know the song because my father used to sing it when I was a kid.
There were also displays devoted to one of the area’s leading industries—a case, for instance, of extinct brands of cigarettes.
We got to the Appomattox around five. Just about everything was closed there, too. One place was supposed to be open, the Rail Yard Restaurant, not far from the Appomattox Inn, where we are staying.
We got there to find the door locked and a sign in the window explaining that they were closing early because of a shortage of help.
We met a local man in the parking lot and asked where in town we could find a place to have dinner. He directed us to a large mall on the principal highway, U.S. 460.
We found a Chinese restaurant, and next to it, Pino’s, a local pizzeria. Probably because it was one of maybe a half dozen or so places in town still open on Sunday, it was buzzing.
People were coming in groups of six and eight sometimes, but there were still tables open, so we got to sit right away.
I had a personal size pizza with sausage and olives. It was pretty good. It wasn’t the D.O.P. Margherita from Woodstack, but it was all right. It didn’t cost $20 either.
I had it with a generic Chianti. Like the last one I had on this trip, this one tasted a little lighter than Chiantis I know. It may have been an American copy using Sangiovese grapes. Joanna took a sip and found even this one still too strong to enjoy.
Joanna ordered eggplant Parmagiana, but without the Parm. She’s cutting back on cheese in her diet. The sauce was made with crushed tomatoes, so it had a pleasant consistency.
It was a bit on the sweet side, and I would have wanted a bit more salt and oregano, but that’s a matter of taste and not quality, so I’d have to rate Joanna’s dinner as passable, too.
A lot of places are closed here on Monday, too, so we may well wind up back at Pino’s again.
We’re going to the courthouse tomorrow. I’m not worried, though. I think they’ll let me off easy.
Everybody stay well and happy.
Best wishes.
Harry and Joanna
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