Around this time, as we pull into my parent's lane after a 3.5 hour drive, we are exhausted but exhilerated. The sounds and the smells of the fresh country swamp our weary city senses, and we always roll our window down, no matter the weather, to let it engulf us and declare us: Hillbillies once more! Yeehaw!
Here are the kids; the daughter insists that it's high time for the not-so-little brother to learn how to do his time at the gate.
The daffodils to the left were planted by my great-grandmother Vietta, a beautiful woman who once was engulfed by the beauty of this land too.
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