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Every place has a history. To all of us, where we live is the center of the world. To the residents of Smithfield, North Carolina, that is the center. For us, the night before we arrived we did not even know of the existence of Smithfield. Yet we found there were things there to interest: old houses, churches, and public buildings. A local history museum that widened our understanding of the black experience, including segregation, and a local producer of hams that, although founded only a few decades ago, has grown to great fame.

We were deliberately travelling the back roads from southwest Virginia to our friends, the Eddys, in Isle of Palms, near Charleston. Perusal of the map showed that North Carolina Highway 96 seemed to be a good choice: rather direct, passing through few towns, and with the prospects of some views. So it turned out. We enjoyed the countryside as we went along, perhaps as much as any other segment of our route. Although we bypassed Durham and Raleigh, we could tell indirectly that they were there: here and there a new suburb, of perhaps 10-30 houses, catering to those willing to drive the "long distance" (by local standards?) commute of 20-30 miles. But more often we saw what you see in cheaper areas: lots of simple pre-fab ("trailer") houses.

As the day progressed we decided to stop early, studied our motel coupon book, and picked Selma, NC, for our nights stop. Our wonderful "convenience", a cell phone, allowed us to insure ourselves that a place would be there for us. Thus we stopped in the Day's Inn, Selma. Now Selma is also a place that we had never heard of. But, that hardly figures in our story. Smithfield arises because we were looking for a house gift for the Eddy's and others and we asked what were the local products. "Smithfield Hams" we were told. So the next morning we set off for Smithfield, about four miles away.