I’ve lived in or near Marietta, Georgia almost all my adult life, and U.S. 41 goes right down the middle of it. After marrying (at the tender age of 21) I spent eight mortally homesick months in the Uptown section of Chicago. The only friendly thing I found there (besides my delightful husband) was Foster Avenue – with its big, friendly black-and-white “41” shield. I could just stand at the El-stop and look down Foster Avenue to the south and think, at the other end of this is the Big Chicken, Marietta, and home.
My childhood was spent in western Tennessee, and my mom, dad, and I made many treks down US 41 between Chattanooga and Atlanta, before the completion of I-75 in the northern suburbs.
I now collect postcards from motels, restaurants, attractions – whatever I can get my hands on – that were located on the Tennessee, Georgia, and Florida legs of US 41. It holds a unique spot in my heart, for it has always been the Road Home.