Wordless Wednesday

Trip to the Farm

From The Farm- Winter 2008

Last December, we traveled to my maternal family's farm in Alabama for the yearly family gathering. This land was purchased sometime around 1900 by my great-great grandfather, a traveling preacher. He built a house there in 1903, and remarried (he was a widower) soon thereafter. That house is still in use, and it's where we stay whenever we go down to visit. (note: I'm afraid none of these photos are of the actual house- they are all of barns and other farm outbuildings.) Every December my maternal family gathers there for a little Christmas reunion, with good Southern food, good company and a fun "white elephant" gift exchange. It's a highlight of my holiday season.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

I've been going to "the farm" since I was a little girl, of course. I knew my great grandparents well, and miss them to this day. I distinctly recall a time when I was in middle school, when I developed an interest in genealogy. I carefully prepared a cassette recorder and a list of interview questions to ask my great grandparents during my next visit. They were mostly basic questions, such as "where were you born?". I was astonished when my great grandfather responded, "Right yonder." and pointed to the back bedroom!
"There?!?" I asked, "In that room?"
"Yup." he said, and that was that.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

My great-great grandfather and his second wife had only one child, a boy. My Poppy. When Poppy eventually married, his young wife came to live with him and her in-laws on their family farm. Their children, including my Grandmother, grew up in that house as well. And later, my Mother would spend some of her childhood right in that same family home. It is special to me that now, my own children get to be there, in that house, on that land, in that history.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

There are so many relics of our family's past there- even my great-great Grandfather's wagon survives, stored away in the barn. All of Poppy's tractors are still around- the barn is a little boy's dream. Babyman loved sitting in one of the old tractors.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

He was ready for some action!

From The Farm- Winter 2008

Babyman's middle name honors my great Grandparents. I think he's a natural.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

From The Farm- Winter 2008

Walking around the farm offers so many wonderful details, so many tiny bits of lore. Almost anything you stumble across probably has a story.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

The boys are mostly oblivious to all this nostalgia- they simply love being there! The dirt, the rocks, the tractors of course, the animal tracks and trails. . . but last trip, it was all about a ride in my Uncle's pickup truck.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

A normally forbidden treat, we climbed into the back of the pickup truck for an open-air ride down the lonely dirt road in the forest. There were no other cars, and it was a slow easy ride in the beautiful afternoon.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

With just one tiny stretch of asphalt road, we were back to the farm in no time.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

The boys talked about it for weeks!

I look forward to going back- maybe I'll take the boys down this summer for some serious vegetable harvesting.

From The Farm- Winter 2008

Wordless Wednesday

From The Farm- Winter 2008

Wordless Wednesday

From assorted

City of Starlight

Out in nowheresville, on my family’s farm in Alabama, we walked out together to admire the night sky. Living in a large metropolitan area as we do, it’s easy to forget about the stars. But that night, huddled together in the grass, our breath frosting in the freezing air, I tipped my head back and gasped. Stretching out overhead was an overwhelming number of stars, improbably bright against the deep, inky black of infinite space. They exploded overhead in glittering profusion, winking and shining like living sparks of spirit-fire in the cold winter night. I cannot remember the last time I saw so many stars, or when they shone so brightly. I only wished the temperature outside was more condusive to lingering- as it was, we had just a few minutes to wonder before I hustled back inside to huddle by the gas heater.

Riding home the following evening, I scanned the night sky ruefully for some indication that the magic still shone somewhere overhead. Only the brightest stars remained- a handful here and there, veiled to a fraction of their former brilliance. Lights that pierced like beacons were now hard to pick out in the pinkish grey sheen over the endless highway. We drew nearer and nearer to Atlanta as I typed, watching the stars fade away. Suddenly ahead the city skyline popped into view like a sunrise on the horizon. For a moment I was startled by it’s beauty, towers twinkling like diamonds, thousands upon thousands of gleaming lights in this urban metropolis. Here of course was the main reason the stars had disappeared: the light pollution was simply too intense, too widespread for the starts to compete. And all at once I was struck with a vision of stars, countless stars, being pulled inexorably from the heavens down to earth, where they coalesced into the sparkling spires then dazzling my eyes.

What human conceit, to have stolen the stars.