This isn’t a post about the Pennington Book Project.
The old store started off as the Midco Mercantile in the old boom town. Once it busted they moved the store to Fremont. It changed hands over the years until my Grandmother took it over in the mid-1980s.
It survived the 1957 tornado that ravaged the town. However, on March 14, 2025 a tornado tore through Fremont once more— the old store did not survive.
It was a rough night. I live nearly 800 miles away now and was following the weather closely. I called my mom and dad as soon as it went through. They were okay— just damage to the house. In the aftermath a lot of pictures were shown of the town and area.
I’ve been sitting here thinking about growing up down there and had some recollections that made it into written word.
Thanks for reading.
Cold mornings and the quiet clank of coins as grandma opened the till while I snuggled down in Pop’s chair while he tended the fire. Though grandma would say he’s just playing with it most days. The giant kettle simmering away to put some humidity in the air and a couple foil wrapped potatoes baking for dinner. If it was cattle sale day, a big pot of chili to feed the helpers and the sale barn truck drivers.
Grandma chatting with customers and making them a sandwich. Pop sipping coffee on the bench out front— talking with the old timers all morning. Then dad doing the same thing when he took over the store.
When I was really little there was an old tv with a VCR— it was in black and white but I remember watching Disney movies and old episodes of Gun Smoke— the ones where John Wayne introduced James Arness. while mom worked at the post office and dad was tending the farm.
Then I turned into a book worm reading the comics and paperbacks grandma sold— I would even recommend them to people, in between playing make believe in the dark aisles.
PJ and I celebrating our birthdays— sharing a cake and a day since our days were so close.
The floor fan kept us cool in the summer the dirt and rock basement cooler than the old store in the humid summer heat. We would sneak down there sometimes and play witches. We loved the old attic with the museum on one side and old clothes on the other— a wonderland of make believe at our fingertips.
Acting out scenes from Xena on the back porch— avoiding the old well and playing in the feedstore. The seeds and grains in our shoes. Chasing fireflies through the town in the summer.
Avoiding the old outhouse in the summer because of the smell and the cold in the winter. I still remember when they put in a bathroom in the back corner of the store.
Washing dishes while bluegrass was being played in the winter inside. Helping dad and mom in the summer when the Friday night jams were going late into the evening across the street at the pavilion. Before sneaking off to play on the swinging tree and the ball court with the other kids. There wasn’t many of us but enough to keep games going.
Woodsmoke and icy rain tapping on the windows. The soft ding of the bell hanging above the double doors— or in the summer the slap of the screen doors.
Deer hunters coming in and swapping stories with dad. The big dinners for deer hunters in the church basement up the street.
Looking up at grandma the night dad went to the hospital for his broken leg and her handing me a little musical horse carousel and telling me it’s going to be okay. I still have that little carousel. 🎠
Sleeping in the big bed in the side room when bad winter storms kept us from making it home to the farm. Staying in the other old store down the street while dad’s leg healed up.
The creaks in the floor joints echoes in my ears. The old back door that sticks. Painting the floor gray and slipping and falling when I childishly painted myself into a corner by the old deli counter.
Sipping Sasparilla on the porch between Pop and dad waiting for PJ to get home from school so we could play.
Riding our bikes to see who was the fastest. Playing baseball in the park. Eating mulberries while sitting in the tree.
Halloween was my favorite— we’d help grandma make up candy bags for kids to take. Tricker treating was an event in town then. Singing Christmas carols and decorating the tree in the store…
Listening to grandma and her sisters talk about the old store and how they used to walk home to Peck Ranch. How I decided it was boring and I was walking home…
Dad catching me on the big hill on Y highway and trying to get me back into Fremont before mom caught up— and how he said I was on my own when she pulled up next to us in the dip.
I still remember the last time we flipped the open sign to closed.
It’s sad moving on, but the building was still there. The memories etched in the walls, the laughter in the paint, and the voices in the air. Now it’s captured only in pictures and memory.
It will endure. One way or another.
So thankful for folks taking pictures— Janet Norris, Aunt Sissy, PJ, and even me.
JP Brand Books 