If they have blue bricks in Blue Brick, then they must have rubies in Ruby. From a clay mine to a gemstone mine—that’s what I’m thinking.
It’s early morning, and the Sno-n-Go Freeze Shack on Market Street in Ruby is open for breakfast. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that your chances are always high to find a local know-it-all in a local diner. (I mean, if there was a diner in every one of these towns, I’d have to eat ten different bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuits with ten different sides of grits.)
“I’m not from here, so I don’t have the slightest clue,” my waitress Maddie says. “I’ve been trying to figure that out, too. I can tell you why my town is called Patrick—and that’s because it’s named after the guy who founded it. But I don’t know a thing about Ruby except how to get here.”
The friendly young couple sitting at the table beside me—they train quarter horses for rodeo riding—don’t know either. And they don’t even know anyone who might know. So, I wait for a table of old-timers to finish their last bites and rise from their seats.
The first guy I ask says, “Uh, you know, Bobby has been here longer than I have.”
Bobby says, “It was originally called Flint Hill, but why they changed it to Ruby? Ruby is the Jubilee City. That means it’s the top of the line.”
Literally, at the start of the 20th century, the Cheraw & Lancaster Railroad tracks reached Ruby, making it the “crown jewel” of the rail line.
Bobby also remembers when Ruby had a little more sparkle: “There were stores on both sides up here. I mean, it was a boom town. We had a cannery right over here where the farmers brought their tomatoes and okra and beans. But all the farmers died.”
It’s early morning, and the Sno-n-Go Freeze Shack on Market Street in Ruby is open for breakfast. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that your chances are always high to find a local know-it-all in a local diner. (I mean, if there was a diner in every one of these towns, I’d have to eat ten different bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuits with ten different sides of grits.)
“I’m not from here, so I don’t have the slightest clue,” my waitress Maddie says. “I’ve been trying to figure that out, too. I can tell you why my town is called Patrick—and that’s because it’s named after the guy who founded it. But I don’t know a thing about Ruby except how to get here.”
The friendly young couple sitting at the table beside me—they train quarter horses for rodeo riding—don’t know either. And they don’t even know anyone who might know. So, I wait for a table of old-timers to finish their last bites and rise from their seats.
The first guy I ask says, “Uh, you know, Bobby has been here longer than I have.”
Bobby says, “It was originally called Flint Hill, but why they changed it to Ruby? Ruby is the Jubilee City. That means it’s the top of the line.”
Literally, at the start of the 20th century, the Cheraw & Lancaster Railroad tracks reached Ruby, making it the “crown jewel” of the rail line.
Bobby also remembers when Ruby had a little more sparkle: “There were stores on both sides up here. I mean, it was a boom town. We had a cannery right over here where the farmers brought their tomatoes and okra and beans. But all the farmers died.”
