Death of the Hardware Store
One of my fondest childhood memories is going with my Dad to the hardware store. Actually, in Glasgow, Virginia, the hardware store was also the general store. If you were lucky enough to have lived long enough to have a memory of life before Home Depot and Lowe’s, then you know what I’m talking about.
First, there’s the building. Two or three steps up on worn treads that went the length of the structure. A narrow porch and through two tall windowed doorways into a darkened and deep space that seemed to stretch out to forever with shelves and shelves of everything you would ever possibly need. And ahhhhh! the smell… Sawdust, nails, sweet feed, seeds and tobacco. I remember the bins of nails and screws. They looked so luscious! I wanted to sink my hands into them, cupping the nails as if they were water but OUCH! These stores were tactile. They were sensory-overload potential. They were warm, and people knew your name and offered you an ice cream sandwich or nutty-buddy from the freezer. You could get what you needed to mend the fence and cook dinner all at the same time.
Blue tin cookware and overalls. Painter pants and aprons. Canned goods and saws. Wrenches and ceramic depictions of Jesus. A round of rat cheese next to pickled pigs’ feet and Slim Jims. Old men in rockers on the front porch; “My, my, look at how you’ve grown! Good golly, Billy Mac, she’s a weed!”
Where are those stores now? Where are those places where our beloved senior citizens can rock and keep an eye on the community? Do we honor them with a front row seat in our towns, or do we hide them away in politely titled places like “Senior Centers”?
Do we have stores or community places where it is safe for children to congregate with kids their own age, or to interact meaningfully with other generations? Do we make the children in our community feel welcomed or valued on a daily basis?
In our effort to grow Southwest Virginia, are we making the effort to retain what makes us unique?
-Lucinda McDermott Piro