Magnolia Springs
Return to the Turn of the Century

"We've got a companion."

A large Golden Retriever, tail swinging in a lazy arc, ambled across a well-tended lawn and fell into step with us. It was a warm day, and we weren't in any hurry. That suited the dog just fine. He sniffed shrubs, waited patiently when we stopped to admire a view, and studiously ignored squirrels that displayed far too much energy on the warm afternoon. Eventually, he found a shady spot in the backyard of a rambling frame house and flopped down. When we looked back, he was ambling back the way we'd come, heading home to wait for another set of strollers, no doubt.

It was the perfect way to spend time in Magnolia Springs, and he knew it.

Visitors who find this hamlet in southern Alabama can be excused for thinking they have entered a time warp. The broad, quiet streets are lined with houses found in turn-of-the-century America, not a country entering a new Millennium. No doors are ever locked, and all the neighbors know each other's names, histories, and families. The air is still, and the loudest noise is the whir of pedals as someone passes by on a bicycle. Ten miles away are the beaches and hustle of Alabama's Gulf Coast. Here, the biggest event is the weekly Saturday night pot luck supper, held at the community church.

That's just the way folks here like it. Magnolia Springs started in the end of the last century as a relaxing escape from city life and confusion, and none of the 900 or so residents sees much reason to rush forward.

Maybe it's in the water. That's what brought people here in the first place. Spa towns were the hot vacation spots in the 1890s. People would go where the waters cured them of everything from neuralgia (whatever that was) to gout. A group of investors from Chicago decided that the Magnolia River had those magical, medicinal qualities and started marketing the place as Alabama's rest cure.

It was never a huge resort, but it did well enough. Testimonials from 1902 attest to the curing powers of the Magnolia River. The "Sunnyside Hotel" did a brisk business through the 20s and 30s, housing not just spa goers, but prospective customers of land developers in the area. The northerners had big plans, figuring this would develop into the resort community for Chicago's better-to-do.

The Depression and the decline of the spa mystique ended Magnolia Springs' boom years. The Sunnyside, on the National Register of Historic Places, stayed open as a hotel and restaurant until the 1950s. David Worthington bought it in 1996 and transformed it into the Magnolia Springs B&B. He delights in showing off the building, now restored to all of its original elegance.
"I don't own it; it owns me," he explains, as he stands on the broad, heart-pine porch. Inside, he shows off the walls and ceilings of beaded yellow pine and the original balusters, rails and jewel posts. "All I am is the caretaker." Clearly, it is a job he relishes.

The B&B's front lawn is shaded by century-old oak trees that arch over the broad Oak Street. Originally called Chicago Street, named by the northern investors, the town changed the name in the 1960s. By then, the oaks planted when the community was first laid out had grown to their full heights. The limbs stretch over the road and yards. "The squirrels can visit all of their neighbors without ever touching the ground," David Worthington says with a grin. He credits their size and strength for protecting the town when hurricanes roll through. The occasional fallen limb seems to be the only damage the town ever suffers.

There's not a lot of 'touring' to do here. There are no publicized tourist attractions or shops selling charming souvenirs. The town park is divided by a creek with a respectable swimming hole. Local lore holds that Federal troops used the stream when traveling to and from nearby Fort Morgan during the Civil War. People sometimes notice the mail boxes planted along the riverbank. That's not some sort of local joke. Magnolia Springs is the last community in the US to receive daily mail service by boat. Only hurricanes interrupt the service, and that's happened only three days in the last five years.

The boat dock across town from the park has one of the prettiest views of any river in the south. It's a good place to bring a picnic, perhaps. Convenient, since the Moore Brothers Fresh Market has the meats, cheeses, breads, and even wines needed to guarantee a proper dockside meal. The market was the town's central meeting place for 70 years. When it closed in 1993, it was as though an old, dear friend had passed away.

Enter Charlie Houser. A local boy, he'd moved away and made it big in telecommunications and construction. But he never forgot his home town or the Moore Brothers, who loaned him the money to go to college. He and his wife, Jane, moved back to Magnolia Springs and renovated and reopened the store. Still called Moore Brothers Fresh Market, it's a cornucopia of staples and specialty foods - jars of condiments, bags of cookies, and bottles of dressings that are fun to contemplate and better to buy and try. The deli counter is stuffed with Cajun and German sausages, stuffed mushrooms, fresh meats, lunch salads, and other temptations. An unexpectedly good selection of wines fills much of the store, and the cheerful manager, Tim Doughan, happily suggests additions to area wine cellars.

The front of the market is a bright, airy restaurant open for lunch. Overstuffed sandwiches named after staff members are popular (and huge), as are the freshly made salads. The Po' Boys, served on authentic New Orleans French Bread, are large enough to keep a teenager sated for several hours.

Which may be just another example of Magnolia Springs' special kind of magic.
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