A couple days ago we visited a cemetery near Andalusia. Today we see other pictures from that trip. None are worth much, except to me. You can feel free to skip today's post - only I find this meaningful.
None of you live in Kitschland so you have a tough time knowing why I provide a picture of cows in a field and why that brings such pleasure. It is because there are no cows where I am in the state. What I have is never-ending traffic (OK, it is pretty reasonable in the hours past 3:00 am to about 5:00 am). I have strip malls, major malls, ma-and-pa malls. Everyone wants your money - sale ends today! Insurance offices, restaurants, Walgreens and CVS on every corner. Turn on the next right and its the same thing for miles. Turn right and its never ending.
That's why cows resting in a field is so neat.
Old worn out farm buildings, silos, and empty lots. Back when farming was a family business and more than just tractor jockeys. Those barns were home to hay and straw, cows, pigs and sometimes sheep. I hate sheep. Laziest critter ever lived. Just as soon die than be driven from one field to another. Damn things. But I digress.
My mother had a thing about empty houses. She thought of the Christmases, and kids and things that makes a house's heart beat. For me, it is abandoned buildings. People once made a living from these places and provided a service for others. They put bread on the table because of these shops. They were something they thought they could count on to make them whole. And now they stand vacant and empty, dead dreams.
One could, I presume, make a strong case that my affinity for these farm pics are because I was the second-in-command on my uncle's farm in Seaton for years during high school, college and grad school. These old buildings are sentinels to a long lost way of life. Farms and me. Most of the things we did are considered obsolete now. My career post, Mary Davis Home, has diminished in scope and vision since my days there, my college is now a University, and my high school is no longer home of the Green Dragons. My grade school is a vacant lot, and driving through Candor cemetery is like a who's who of folks I knew growing up.
Change can be fun, or not.
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