One Right Turn
Nobody puts a French bistro in Maury County. And yet.
A warm welcome to everyone finding their way here through Jason Wilson’s recommendation. If you don’t know Jason’s work, EVERYDAY DRINKING, Godforsaken Grapes, Boozehound, The Cider Revival and bylines in the Washington Post, the New Yorker, the New York Times, Wine Enthusiast, and Travel + Leisure — fix that immediately. He writes about drink the way the best travel writers write about place.
That he’s kept me on his recommended list is either very generous or a lapse in judgment. Possibly both.
Glad you’re here. Pull up a chair
I have a gift.
Unfortunately, it’s not making money.
It’s walking into old buildings and immediately knowing what they could become. Give me five minutes and I’ll tell you where the stage goes, where the bar goes, what color to paint the walls, and why people will drive an hour to get there.
My bank account has repeatedly suggested I develop a different gift.
Funding remains the weak link in this business model.
That thought crossed my mind more than once during a recent day of antiquing in Maury County — a day that turned out to be less about what I bought and more about what I couldn’t stop imagining.
It started with a place I found online that looked interesting enough to warrant a detour.
One right turn later, I was in the middle of nowhere.
The kind of nowhere I happen to love.
Railroad tracks. Empty roads. Trees. A small cluster of old buildings that looked like they’d been waiting patiently for the trains to return.
What struck me most was how quickly everything changed. One minute you’re in the world of traffic lights, chain stores, and subdivisions. The next you’re standing in a place that feels untouched even as new houses begin creeping closer in the distance.
It won’t stay this way forever. But for now, this little pocket of Tennessee still feels like itself.
The first stop was 2 Storeys Antiques. Creaky wood floors, vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, ceiling fans turning slowly overhead. Quiet in the way that good antique stores always are like everyone inside has silently agreed to slow down. The booths are full of the kind of pieces wealthy people pay interior designers to track down and then act like they discovered themselves.
I could have done serious damage in there.
There was a chandelier (1920s maybe, red and orange and pink glass) priced well enough to be tempting and badly enough timed to be impossible. It was the first stop. It didn't fit the budget. A budget I didn't even have.
I hope it’s still there. I also hope it isn’t.
Then I crossed the street to Carter’s Creek Station Antiques.
Their Instagram bio says they specialize in “dust and rust.”
That was not false advertising.
At first glance, it felt less like an antique store and more like a treasure hunt for people with better digging skills than I have. Every square inch packed with something, with more things stacked on top of that. The original display windows were nearly covered, blocking most of the natural light. I’m sure gems are hiding in there — for the right shopper, the excavation is probably half the fun.
I kept getting distracted by the building itself.
Which is when I found out it was originally a general store. And that in the 1970s, it became an antique store and the family converted the back part into a home. Once I knew that, I started seeing everything differently. The long wooden counter. The layout. The traces of a former life hiding in plain sight.
And that’s when my imagination got involved.
I didn’t want to buy the store. I wanted to buy the building.
Open up the windows, let the light back in, keep the antiques — but add live music on weekends. Maybe a little café. Maybe a gathering place where people actually linger.
By this point my imaginary renovation was well underway. In reality, I bought a beret — the only thing in my imaginary budget — and moved on.
France, apparently, was next on the stops.
Rue 6 in Columbia, Tennessee is a charming French bistro that has absolutely no business being this good in the middle of a country road day trip — and yet. After a morning of railroad tracks and dust and rust, suddenly we were debating sandwiches and pastries in what felt like a different continent. I was not complaining.
The French fancy cocktails may have had something to do with what happened next. On a whim…we decided to stop, on the way back to Nashville, at this other antique mall I found.
Spring Hill Antique Mall is housed inside an old high school gymnasium.
An actual gymnasium.
The basketball goals are still hanging overhead. The giant windows still flood the room with natural light. The old time clock is still on the wall. As recently as 1989, this place was packed with Friday night crowds cheering on the home team. Now antique booths fill the space where students once ran laps and probably counted the minutes until the final bell.
The antiques were great. The building was even better. I found myself looking up as much as I was looking around which, if you know me at all, tells you everything.
By the end of the day, I realized I hadn’t just spent the day antiquing. I’d spent the day exploring places that had found a second life. A general store turned antique shop. A gymnasium turned antique mall. All of it more interesting because the past hadn’t been erased — just rearranged.
As for Carter’s Creek Station:
If anyone happens to know an investor willing to fund someone with a weakness for old buildings and questionable financial judgment, you know where to find me. I'll be the one in the beret.
Maury County, Tennessee — about an hour south of Nashville.
I want to go to all of these places! Thanks for scoping them out first.