Odes to Reynoldstown · Track 1 · opener
Reynoldstown: Wheelbarrow Festival and the Trolley Tracks
Reynoldstown — historic Black neighborhood east of Cabbagetown, between Kirkwood and Inman Park. Named for Madison Reynolds (a Black brakeman). The Wheelbarrow Festival (annual celebration of the neighborhood's working-class roots), the BeltLine Eastside Trail crossing through, the old streetcar tracks, the gentrification tension as Atlanta's Black neighborhoods are remade.
Lyrics
[Intro] Oh, wheelbarrow, my old companion, with your rusted rim and wooden handles splintered from years on Hulsey Street. [Verse 1] You remember Madison Reynolds, don't you? That Black brakeman in the late 1800s, his name stamped on this soil east of Cabbagetown. Freedmen pushed you through the dirt after the Civil War, late 1860s, building cottages on Rockyford Road. Moreland Avenue drew the line, asphalt barrier to the white mill workers across the way. But you carried the weight, the bricks and dreams, under August suns hitting 85 degrees. [Chorus] Wheelbarrow, let's race again in Lang-Carson Park, like that first festival on August 15, 2004. Sweat on my brow, laughter rising with the smell of BBQ ribs and cut grass. You hold the stories of calloused hands, the resilience against the cranes of Madison Yards looming since 2019. Push me forward, past the gentrification tide remaking our Black streets. [Verse 2] Feel the old streetcar tracks under your wheel, embedded in Wylie Street asphalt, rusted from the early 1900s. BeltLine Eastside Trail now curves where freight cars once rolled, bicycles gliding by Lantern Parade sculptures near Krog Street. You, wheelbarrow, symbol of our working-class roots, decorated for the annual race, hiding that tiny brass charm in the park. Adjacent to Edgewood, Inman Park, Kirkwood, but here we stand, between the divides. [Bridge] Whisper to me, wheelbarrow, of the missing voices—the wives of settlers in the 1870s, their undocumented labor. Families displaced in the 2010s, stories buried under new apartments. Don't let the developers erase us, with their mixed-use promises on Memorial Drive. [Verse 3] Early morning, 65 degrees on the trail, dew on your handles as we cross the old rail corridor. Hear the distant hum of traffic on Moreland, the crunch of gravel, the whine of construction. You carried shovels and hammers for those first homes, now heirlooms at community stalls. Reynoldstown, our historic holdout, between Kirkwood and Inman Park. [Outro] Wheelbarrow, my love, keep rolling through the tension, the remaking. We'll meet again at the festival, pushing against the change.