For many miles before I reached the spot on the map called Conn, I drove through a sparsely populated area, past overgrown fields and second growth pine forests. Upon arrival in Conn, this old house surrounded by pecan trees, a barn, and a storage shed were the only things I found. The house was dilapidated and empty, with the door standing open and some of the windows broken out. I spent an hour walking around the grounds and through the buildings of the abandoned farmstead, contemplating the life of the family that once had lived here. It was a kind of spooky and the whole experience gave me a melancholy feeling.
I traveled on down the road to the next house and inquired. The old farmer I met told me that at one time there had been a Conn Post Office and a Conn General Store along the road in front of the house I had explored. This had been the center of a small farming and logging community a generation or two ago. The people who owned the place now lived far away, he said, and he wasn't quite certain where they had gone.