Extended Notes on Chapter 3: The Geography of Memory
Several readers have asked about the decision to structure Chapter 3 as a series of geographical vignettes rather than a linear narrative. The truth is, memory doesn’t follow straight lines—it moves like water, finding the path of least resistance, pooling in unexpected places.
The Map That Wasn’t
Originally, I’d planned to include an actual map in this chapter. My editor wisely suggested that the mental geography I was creating was more powerful than any visual representation could be. The places I describe—the creek behind my childhood home, the courthouse square, the abandoned railway depot—exist as much in memory as in physical space.
Research Notes
The section about the old tobacco warehouse required more research than any other part of the chapter. I spent three days in the county historical society’s archives, finding not just facts but voices. The ledgers from 1947-1952 contained margin notes from the warehouse manager, a man named Eugene Watts, whose commentary on weather, politics, and local gossip provided unexpected color for the narrative.
One entry, dated August 15, 1949, simply read: “Thunder all morning. No sales. Played cards with Jimmy R. He cheats, but not well.” This didn’t make it into the book, but it shaped my understanding of the place as a social center, not just a commercial one.
What I Left Out
The hardest part of writing this chapter was deciding what to leave out. There’s a whole section about the drive-in theater that I ultimately cut—not because it wasn’t important, but because it belonged to a different story, one I’m not ready to tell yet.
A Note on Truth in Memoir
Memory is unreliable, and I’ve tried to be honest about that unreliability. The creek may not have been as wide as I remember. The tobacco warehouse may not have smelled exactly as I describe. But the emotional truth of these places—their weight in shaping who I became—that’s as accurate as I can make it.
Questions for Reflection
- How do the places of your childhood continue to shape your understanding of home?
- What locations in your own geography of memory have changed or disappeared?
- How do we reconcile the places we remember with the places as they exist now?
Next week, I’ll share some of the photographs I took during my research for this chapter, including one of Eugene Watts’ ledger that didn’t make it into the book but deserves to be seen.