About a month ago, I traveled back down to my Southern roots that hold down ancient oak trees covered in Spanish moss on the Florida/Georgia border. A second cousin twice removed was getting married or something. The preacher was wearing a skin tight pink ensemble and lots of bottle blonde. There was already a child out of wedlock, lots of country karaoke, and the only nonalcoholic beverage offered was sweet tea. My mom almost made me miss my flight back, but she made up for it beforehand by line dancing in cowboy boots and exclaiming, "I put my britches on backwards!"
While I was there, my brother and I walked around the tiny town and snapped a few pictures. It literally has one gas station, one corner store, two restaurants, two churches, and the tiniest fire station and library I've ever seen. All within one mile of each other. There are pictures of me by the train tracks, but don't let that fool you. The train hasn't stopped there for years.
Check out my blog for more photographs! [Including me with hippie hair.]