When my dad moved with his family to the mill village in Darlington in 1922, there were no churches on the mill village where he lived.
I really do love this time of year! The grass and trees are green, the flowers are blooming and, everywhere, there is a sense of rebirth and renewal.
Sunday night, the moon hung full and bright over treetops. Like some silver dollar hurled into the night she floated full and beautiful, though pollen gave it a gold cast.
The 1930s were trying years, not only in America, but around the world! Most of the world was trying to free itself from the stranglehold that the war had on them.
Smith Chapel found me Sunday. Though it’s on Smith Chapel Road and sounds like a no-brainer, directions for my first attempt led me astray.