Sunday on the Farm

Last weekend I went home to Birmingham to see my family. My entire life my grandparents have always lived on a farm and all us grandkids have always loved getting to spend time out there any time of year, but springs and summers are the best. Childhood memories range from playing hide and seek with my cousins in grasses so tall it covered us completely, to all of us–at some point–learning to drive a stick shift in Papa’s little truck. There are pictures of us riding on the the tractor and fishing with Papa, painting and doing arts and crafts with Granny, “helping” with the farm by going to pick what we wanted when the season’s bounty was revealed (snap beans, tomatoes, and okra from the farmer’s market just don’t compare), and years ago when Papa still had his chicken farm, we’d get to go in to see the baby chicks and hold them. Though the chicken farm was sold years ago, I can’t remember the last time I went fishing, the vegetable garden lays fallow, and I still can’t drive a stick shift, one thing that the farm always wraps me up in is family and being Southern.

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