This past weekend, my sister and her kids, my brother and our family went to visit my parents in our family town of Albany, Georgia.
I love the homes here for more than just the family that inhabit them. They actually hold memories. Mine, my mothers, my grandmothers.
It is so fun to bring my husband and kids here to make their own memories.
Lucy and my niece Sarah. They were two peas in a pod.
All of the great-grandchildren with my grandmother.
Our "Olan Mills" pose
Reasons why I love my grandparents house:
Not bought at Pottery Barn or Restoration Hardware.
Their clothesline. Why does it look like a gas pump?
I don't know. But I like it.
My grandfather's barn.
If I was more brave, I would go inside it.
But I am scared a den of rattlesnakes live there.
Have been since I was born.
Not scared.
Never.
You don't get old oak trees with Spanish Moss hanging down ANYWHERE near Asheville.
There is something super mystical, serene and very peaceful to be around it.
The swaying moss just lulls you to somewhere peaceful.
It's either that or the gin and tonics that flow like water round here.
It's either that or the gin and tonics that flow like water round here.
Through that window is the room where I stayed every summer.
My things are still in the dresser upstairs.
I firmly remember playing rounds and rounds of spades, hearts, Othello, calling 1-900 numbers for ghost stories, raising frogs and swimming until everyone was sure that I sprouted gills here.
No other place compares.
I hope my kids have memories of places like this one day.
