[Originally posted at The Patch as The Lost Towne Laker]
Location: Woodstock, Georgia
“Well, I don’t know, sweetie. That was in the olden days. It’s a mystery we may never know.”
She gave me a puzzled look, then turned to our faithful guide, Bwana.
“They made rope, honey,” Bwana told her. “That’s why they called it the Rope Mill.”
We were standing at the Olde Rope Mille Parke on the banks of the Little River. Hikers and bikers are familiar with this place. And to my eye, fly-fishermen should be also, though I didn’t see any.
