Once upon a time in the heart of Kemper County, where time takes a leisurely stroll, lies Sciple Mill, a relic of yesteryear that's as old as the hills it sits next to. This isn't just any mill; it's a time capsule, grinding away since 1790 with the same stubbornness as a mule that refuses to learn new tricks. Imagine capturing the essence of a place where history isn't just preserved; it's still in operation, with stones turning water into magic, or at least into the most authentic cornmeal and grits this side of the Mississippi.

 

Across the sleepy road, where cars have long stopped to take a break, stands the Old Gas Station. It's the kind of place where the pumps are relics, and if they could talk, they'd tell tales of roadsters and ramblers, of travelers from a bygone era. This station, with its peeling paint and faded signs, isn't just abandoned; it's a monument to the days when filling up your tank was an event, not a chore. The station stands as a silent sentinel, watching over the mill, perhaps reminiscing about the times when its nozzles were as busy as the mill's water wheel.

 

Together, these two landmarks offer a narrative, a visual poem about continuity and change, about the enduring spirit of rural America. When you photograph here, you're not just capturing images; you're freezing moments of history in time. Sciple Mill, with its rustic charm, and the old gas station, with its ghostly presence, are not just subjects of your lens; they're characters in a story where time itself plays the lead.