Editor’s Note: Since Daphne was incorporated — on July 8, 1927 with a population of 500, according to the city’s Web site — it has grown to become the largest city in Baldwin County.

Baldwin and Daphne have seen major developments in the past few decades — from condos in Gulf Shores and Orange Beach to the discussion of residential high-rises in the Jubilee City — but many of you remember a different Baldwin County.

“Those were the days” is a new feature in the Daphne Bulletin and on BaldwinCountyNow.com where you can share your memories of growing up in Baldwin County.

If you have lived within the county since the 1960s or 1970s, and wish to share your story of growing up in Baldwin, please submit it by e-mail to bulletin@gulfcoastnewspapers.com. (There is no hyphen.) You may also mail it to Daphne Bulletin, c/o “Those were the days,” P.O. Box 1560, Daphne, AL, 36526.

In the 1950s, dirt-packed, wash-board roads were the veins that ran through Baldwin County.

Gov. “Big Jim” Folsom ran on the platform of road-paving. In Alabama, the results of these efforts were farm-to-market roads.

The widening of County Road 83 in Robertsdale brings childhood memories of a glorious past.

For years, the home sat vacant on County Road 83 and 48, before a fire destroyed it in the late 1980s. The hand-hued boards of this rustic log cabin needed painting and repairing. The home sat tranquilly, with only the movement of heavy magnolia leaves from surrounding trees. The magnolia trees and a flower bed provided a clear pathway where my great-uncle Lem walked Old Carney, his mule.

The cool, comfortable front porch housed farm equipment and Old Carney’s bridle and bit. Uncle Lem broke his back breaking — or taming — horses when he was young. The accident left him with a crinkled back matching Old Carney’s.

My Great-Aunt Clyde Mae liked raking magnolia leaves and planting flowers. “Flowers made it look like you was planning on staying for a while,” she would say.

As if anyone would think Lem and Clyde Mae would move from their castle.

Split-fence railing lain in a square on the ground marked the gopher bed. Feeding, watching and making gopher stew kept Lem busy.

Peacocks ran freely around the yard. We chased their tails, which Clyde Mae would call “trains.” Nobody knew how old the peacocks were, or where they came from. But Uncle Lem had a few ideas; he said they came from India, Burma, Malaysia and Java.

He kept them because they ate insects, snails and frogs. But you had to watch them around your bulbs and grain.

Uncle Lem told us that in ancient times the peacock was a religious symbol and a sign of great wealth like gold or silver. The Romans ate them at their feasts, and peacocks were carried on huge vessels in the times of King Solomon, he’d say.

Uncle Lem’s wealth included the prancing peacocks, that old mule and the flower bed his faithful wife made to show the world they were staying. The gophers, his blessings, were for food and extra money for property taxes.

With a good and faithful Bible-reading wife, there was nothing else for him to want.

Uncle Lem had no idea the world around him didn’t feel the same about his gained wealth of a lifetime.

I remember how the peacock pranced around the yard, showing his metallic, greenish-blue neck and breast, opening his train to reveal feathers marked with bold spots that looked like eyes staring at you. The old birds spread their tail feathers like a fan twice their body size, prancing around as if King Solomon’s band was playing.

When I was a child, Uncle Lem was King Solomon.