Looking for a little bit of an adventure in the heart of White, Georgia? Then head on over for a fascinating blend of manmade prowess and reclaimed nature. Old Car City USA in Georgia is one of the coolest hidden gems that most residents don’t even know exists. With over 4,000 cars left to decay in the middle of Georgia, this automobile junkyard is a perfect afternoon of fun and history.
Old Car City in White, Georgia has been dubbed the world’s largest known old car junkyard, which is quite impressive for this roadside hidden gem.
Established in 1931, this old car museum features 34-acres of junkyard space where nature has reclaimed a bevy of classic cars.
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What’s been declared a “photographer’s paradise” smack dab in the middle of a forested landscape, guests can meander the area enjoying classic cars that have been taken over by the surrounding natural area.
The land was once used for a general store, and then a car dealership that sold used car parts. The Lewis family who owned the land eventually accumulated more and more cars, which eventually began to rust and decay.
One part man-made, one part Mother Nature, this roadside attraction is now a well-known hidden gem within the Georgia community.
While most of the vehicles are from the 20th century, there are plenty of classic cars from the 50s through the 80s that offer up one of the most unique automotive history lessons.
The museum is cash only and will require a fee to be paid before you visit. If you’re looking to take photos, the fee will be a bit higher.
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Come explore over 4,000 American-made cars, trucks, vans, and even a few school buses as they decay in one of the most fascinating museums in the south.
Have you ever been to Old Car City USA in Georgia before? Share with us your experience in the comments section! Or if you're looking for more information about this automotive junkyard, including current hours of operation, then check out the website or Facebook Page.
Ghostly Grandeur Awaits at This Hauntingly Beautiful Cemetery in Georgia
Even if you don't believe in ghosts, it's hard to not feel something when exploring this historic place, which is one of the most beautiful in Savannah.
Savannah, Georgia, is widely considered to be among the most haunted cities in the US. It's incredibly historic, the setting for many a ghost story, and, let's face it: there's something eerily beautiful about all that hanging Spanish moss.
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Bonaventure Cemetery is one of the city's largest cemeteries and it's also home to many chilling tales. Even if you're not a strong believer in the paranormal, you'll likely feel something in the air here. This is an incredibly gorgeous place, one of the prettiest spots in an extremely pretty city, but there's also a subtle creepiness about it that you feel in your veins as you stroll through the graves.
The first burial in Bonaventure Cemetery took place in 1846. The cemetery is located on the grounds of the Bonaventure Plantation, a 600-acre farm founded in 1762 on a bluff along the Wilmington River. The plantation's mansion was destroyed in a fire in 1804, but the land would pass through various families before eventually becoming a public cemetery. The graveyard gained national prominence in 1994 with the release of "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." This non-fiction novel (and later film) is a dramatized account of the trial related to the 1981 murder of Savannah resident Danny Hansford.
Bonaventure may not have become a household name until the release of "The Book," as you'll sometimes hear it called in Savannah, but Georgians have long known about this place, thanks largely to its otherworldly beauty. There are several prominent names interred here, including poet Conrad Aiken and Revolutionary statesmen Noble Jones.
One of the most-visited graves here was not a famous person in life, but she has certainly made a name for herself in death. "Little Gracie" Watson's grave is surrounded by an iron fence, and it's not unusual to see it decorated with toys and gifts left by visitors. The little girl was born in 1883 and was the daughter of the manager of Savannah's Pulaski Hotel. She passed away in 1889 after a battle with pneumonia. Her father commissioned the life-sized sculpture that now adorns her grave, and many visitors to Savannah report seeing her ghost dancing in Johnson Square, where the Pulaski Hotel once stood.
This being a cemetery in what is possibly the country's most haunted city, it goes without saying that there are quite a few legends swirling around ghosts and spookiness in the graveyard. Many of the graves here feature elaborate statues similar to Little Gracie's, and you'll see biblical figures like angels as well as statues representing the deceased that have long since left this world. Visitors often report seeing some of these statues move or change expressions, and many a marble angel has allegedly been seeing crying.
Ghosts aside, this place is incredibly beautiful, and it's always one of my favorite spots to visit just to relax and think. In Victorian times, families would picnic and stroll through cemeteries like we do in parks today. Nowadays, it may seem a little odd to be walking around surrounded by death, but when you're in a place as beautiful as Bonaventure, it becomes a little more understandable as to why people would come here to relax.
I love seeing the way the light dances upon the statues and headstones here, and how the sunlight looks so different throughout the day and year. Watching the shadows dart through the spooky Spanish moss draped all around gives the entire place a completely unique ambiance that I've never felt in any other cemetery. The abundance of trees and azalea bushes means that even on a day where it's crowded with sightseers, you can find a quiet corner to be alone with your thoughts.
It's impossible to walk through and read the headstones and not think about the lives that all these people led, so long ago. I find the little sheep figures designating a child's grave to be particularly haunting - seeing them makes you think about love and loss, those brilliant lives cut short and how their birth and death were such noteworthy days for their families - noteworthy days that came far too close together.
Savannah is such a unique city that's full of amazing destinations, but I find few to be as utterly enchanting as Bonaventure Cemetery. Whether you love history, natural beauty, or are a fan of the spooky and creepy, this is an amazing destination for anyone to visit. If you're looking to get an up-close-and-personal look at the cemetery, check out some of the guided tours offered through Viator.
I think many can relate when I say that I was quite ready to get out of my hometown by the time I graduated high school. Sure, Savannah, Georgia may be widely considered one of the country's most beautiful cities. Pretty much any list of the most historic cities in the country is going to include it. It's one of the South's most popular tourist destinations, welcoming 17 million visitors a year. But I lived there from birth, and by age 18, I had that all-too-relatable young adult urge of wanting to spread my wings and get as far away as possible. I daydreamed of Chicago, San Francisco, and a myriad of other exotic-sounding locales all over the country. I eventually settled for the more budget-friendly option of Athens, Georgia: four hours north, home to a suitable, family-approved college in the University of Georgia, and what felt like a world away from my parents and everything I had known before.
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I spent more than a decade away, coming back for monthly weekend visits to see my divorced parents. My mom lived in a modest home on the suburban southside, my dad had a colorful historic house in the trendy downtown area that attracts all the tourists and national headlines. Over the years, my dad became something of a local celebrity. He loved live music, lived for it, and saw hundreds of concerts a year. It didn't matter to him if it was a global superstar (the Rolling Stones were his favorite) or an unknown teenage garage band. It was his passion and life's purpose. As a friendly, outgoing guy, he talked to just about anyone and everyone at all the venues he visited. From The Jinx to Moodright's, every time I called him, I was regaled by stories of his evening antics.
Each time I visited, we couldn't go anywhere downtown without running into someone he knew, and he'd always greet them with a smile. We'd stop by a show – from The Accomplices (one of his favorite local groups) to Barry Manilow. There was always music, there were always smiles and friends, and there was always an undying love for the city that radiated from him with every action.
Last September, I was unexpectedly drawn back to the city in an unfortunate way. I was awakened in the middle of the night by a phone call from a Savannah police officer. My dad was gone, the victim of an accident on his red electric bike that he adored. I spent the long hours until sunrise paralyzed with shock, then arranged for a friend to come watch my home while I traveled back to Savannah to do whatever needed to be done. I didn't know because it was the type of thing I normally would have asked my dad about and he wasn't there, just an endless list of "do this, arrange that, don't forget about this!"
That time period is so foggy in my memory now, and so many things are just hints of memories to me now. While I know I was sorting out all kinds of practical tasks like paying bills and dealing with the court, but I don't remember the details.
The things I remember are much more tangible and so intricately woven into the fabric of Savannah as a city. Starting each day with a coffee from Big Bon Bodega. Mornings spent working in the beautiful Bull Street Library after my dad's Wi-Fi got cut off for non-payment. Lunches picking at grilled cheese sandwiches at The Black Rabbit because it was one of his favorite restaurants. Hours walking through Forsyth Park, lost in thoughts I can no longer remember. Spending time in such a beautiful city was a striking contrast to my depression.
It's an odd and uncomfortable thing, losing someone who was seemingly beloved by a whole city. In the haze of tribute concerts, online articles, and even a painting by local artist Panhandle Slim, I had such a storm of emotions inside me. I just wanted to scream, "He wasn't your dad!" at everyone sobbing at his loss. Now, with the benefit of time, I see it was a beautiful thing that so many were so sad. He felt a love that few get to experience, and even now, when I visit Savannah, I'm overcome by how much I feel him there.
I visited the city so many times over the last year, usually to deal with the mundane tasks that come up during the haze of grief. In between things like filing for estate executorship and giving away his many, many band t-shirts, it occurred to me that maybe I didn't dislike the city so much after all. The incredible sense of community that I feel when I visit is practically unheard of in a city of 150,000. The restaurants are delicious. There's so much history. And you really, really can't beat the charm of the Spanish moss draping down overhead.
I am probably not ever going to live in Savannah again (I hate the heat!). But the Hostess City will always be a part of my dad, and so it will always be a part of me. I feel him when I'm standing along the Savannah River, walking down oak-lined 37th Street, or paying a visit to Graveface Records. Losing the people that we love is inevitable, but they live on – not just in our memories, but in the places they touched, the spots that shape who they were. I no longer have my dad, but I will always have Savannah.