My weekend was packed full of busyness. Friday night, CSI-Guy and I went down to Augusta to stand around in our boots and black clothes and listen to angry industrial music. By midnight, we were both pretty exhausted, so we stuck it out until we couldn’t hold out any longer, and then headed home. (Of course we stopped by Waffle House on the way.)
At 8:30 Saturday morning, my dad calls me to make sure I’m awake, and then he and I were off to the farm. It was a little bit weird walking around there, considering it was my first time there since my grandmother died back in 1994. We opened the house up for the first time since last year, and let it air out while we walked around the property. It was both sad and comforting. Sad because I know that it will never feel like a home away from home again now that my grandparents aren’t there, but comforting because of all the loving memories.
Dad and I walked around, pointing out how different some spots looked now that they were overgrown. We visited the old, old house (where my dad grew up) and couldn’t even see it for all of the kudzu covering it. Once I wiggled my way into the door, though, I found that everything was still solid. People don’t build houses like that anymore.
In the front yard of the old house, there is a live oak tree that’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. There’s another oak in front of the “new” house, but it’s not quite as big. I made a comment about how I would love to have either of those trees in my front yard. Dad clapped me on the back and said, “I’m sure if you asked Daddy, you can have both of them.”
I wonder how I’d like life as a farmer, living thirty-five minutes from the nearest grocery store… it has some appeal. (Assuming that I can get high-speed internet out there, of course.) It’s also only an hour and a half from the beach.
In other news, I need to (try to) cook something again. Any suggestions?