I just needed a road. That’s usually how these things start.
Two hours and nothing else to do but drive and seek. Park City seemed close
enough to establish a makeshift outpost for the morning. From there, plans were
to drive a back road of Barren County until I had to double back for work.
The plans rerouted. My lone Park City Shell Station was
lined to the brim with Interstate pull off traffic and the local yocal needing
five dollars worth. So I settled for the Dixie Highway north to the next City.
Cave City, that is. Another Shell Station across the street from the new KFC
neighboring the old Kentucky Fried Chicken. Cave City’s Colonel held onto the
old Bucket sign for years and years longer than most others. Now, the bucket of
chicken is gone, replaced by a marketer’s brainstorm.
My Shell pump clicked full, another bank hold added to the
fifty or so dollars to fill the tank. They all do that. Try filling up three or
four times a week with a card at the pump. Hundreds float around on hold at all
times. Got on the downtown loop to
figure out where to go, and a tailgater gets right behind on the bumper. Why
not? Bumper to bumper so close I may as well had a trailer hitch for his car. I
pull over to a parking spot in front of a bank in the historic district and let
the enthusiastic driver pass. Idling, I look in front of me to see a faded sign
on the side of a faded building. Magaline’s Antiques. Hundreds of Booths, it
says. Air Conditioned, it says. I went in.
Well, before I opened the door, I saw a handwritten sign.
“No Large Purses allowed! You will be searched!” So, I entered to find the
typical antique store welcome and asked if they’d like to “Check my purse.”
From there, the memory of the day began in earnest.
My host was dressed like Halloween. It was June. Maybe the
Derby, still a month late. Hat with green sash. Green vintage dress that looked
to be antebellum at best. Antiairconditioned at worst. To which, there wasn’t
as much as advertised outside on the building. I broke a sweat looking at the
Swisher Sweets.
To pay for my find up at the archaic cash register, I turn
around and see pictures of country singer Marty Stuart of Hillbilly Rock memory
posing with her. The Kentucky Headhunters posing with Mrs. Hat, too. An article
written about her…by Byron Crawford. Next to the Kentucky Colonel certificate
and Grand Marshall Award for the Cave City Christmas parade.
Turns out, Magaline pioneered a downtown renaissance in Cave
City two decades ago after a try at a sandwich shop that turned antique store
when the junk made more money than the food service. She was the first to try
her hand (along with her husband) at opening a new store away from an
interchange. At one local event in 1995,
she dressed up in a hat and the yocals when crazy with compliment. It’s been a
hat day ever since. She has 400 plus. A
room built onto her house. For the hats.
I realized I was in no ordinary antique store. Same stuff
one sees at a hundred of these places. A stand alone personality second to none.
Flamboyance all the difference. Makes
one want to come back. I stayed as long as great conversation allowed. Heard about the house she grew up in at a
holler named Buzzard Roost.
About her newfangled e-cigarette. About the time a
guy drove right into her store and busted out the plate glass. And decapitated
a concrete lion, too. She had Polaroids of that. I aksed her if she was on
Facebook. She said no. I took a picture for Map Dot anyway. Left with a John
Deere tractor, a Pepsi race car, and a smile. From just needing a road.
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