Ten miles south of Broad Street, down highway 441, sits the small town of Bishop, Georgia. As a kid it was the last leg of the car ride before we would reach Athens. Our car would always slow down while passing through the old buildings and fruit stands. My eyes would rest on the cluttered yard full of lawn and garden art. The rundown white Trade-a-book building would peak my curiosity… and then it would be gone. We’d speed up again and make our way to Watkinsville, and eventually Athens.
When driving myself back to Brunswick, my hometown, I’d head down 441, through that small town without a glance. Only ten minutes into my ride and I’m already in a trance, pedal to the metal until I cross the marsh.
But on my return trips from Brunswick, passing through Bishop serves as one last moment of peace and comfort one can only find in a sleepy old town. I never stopped but I would slow down, take a deep breath and look around.
This past May I decided to stop in Bishop and learn more about the people that make the town for an article in my magazine writing class. Instead of an easy stop and look travel piece, I unearthed a community who struggles with identity and political problems the way that larger cities do.
In my advanced photojournalism class, we are required to have a semester long project that we will document visually. I’m fascinated by small towns and enjoy meeting the big characters in these communities. I decided to explore Bishop– learn more about the roadside stops and the people and families behind them. I hope to discover the most important part of their lives and how they live in such a small community so different from the college town it borders.