At the Manor with Bruh Stockton

On arrival at the Manor, I was pulled from the passenger's seat into a gregarious embrace by the man of the Manor, Robert "Bruh" Stockon. The Manor, a sprawling southern home originally built in the 20s sits on land which has been in the Stockton family for twice as long– the street bordering the house actually bears the name Stockton Road. There had been several additions to the house over the years, each with its own period-feel, unchanged since construction.

Bruh quickly pulled us into the house, handed us a beer and threw some pork steaks, hot dogs, hamburgers, and squash on the grill. He spoke in a drawl unlike anything I've ever heard– a drawl whose charm only intensified after several hours of drinking. By the end of the night, his voice had taken on a contagious humor which one couldn't help but attempt to emulate.

Bruh pig slaughter

What a feast! The potato salad from Bruh's Ma, the only other occupant of the Manor, was absolutely, hands-down the best I've ever tasted. (I had some for dinner and more for breakfast.)

In the morning, I woke up at dawn to explore the 25 acres of Stockton land which backed up into the swamp. I slipped out into the predawn haze and explored the abandoned stables, barns, metal shop and other ancient structures dotting the land. Maya, Bruh's loyal dog, kept close on my heels for the whole trek. After two hours of exploring and photographing, I returned, soaked in dew, to take the first shower I'd had in several days. After sleeping another few hours, I awoke to the sound of electric slide guitar from the room across the hall. Walker and Bruh were hard at work on the track he already posted. It was rather magical.


An old Methodist text from 1832.