I call this little $15 thrift store guitar Pedro when he’s wearing my funky hat. I figured he might get some use here in Nashville, especially since we put Tripp at Tune airport. 🙂
(sent from my phone)
I call this little $15 thrift store guitar Pedro when he’s wearing my funky hat. I figured he might get some use here in Nashville, especially since we put Tripp at Tune airport. 🙂
(sent from my phone)
Hartwell is a warm and friendly Georgia family town, seems to me. We’ve been impressed by the helpful and friendly nature of so many of the people we meet here. We came to visit cousins, and tonight we enjoyed a wonderful meal with wide ranging conversation. Like many who hadn’t been to the South before we used to have a mistaken impression of life here.
Added to the traditional culture here is change brought by the civil rights movement, and more recently a large influx of people retiring here from the northeast. Many build dream homes on the lake.
Gathering storm clouds reflected in the lake found me thinking about how much life has changed here, and how many ways it’s still the same.
Our cozy and affordable hotel at the bottom-right has replaced an older inn that used to be the prime accomodation, and Walmart at the top-left has replaced many family businesses.
The forest has been replaced by a golf course and open pit mine that have a proximity seen from the air that most residents may not know about.
Pollen is dusting everything in town with a golden yellow, including the lake. It collects in drifts, creating patterns where none existed. So it is with this town perhaps, as new residents blow in to mingle in new ways changing age old patterns and traditions.
Returning to earth from today’s brief flight with cousin Marilyn and her pilot hubby Jack, I noticed an expanded sense of how grounded the people here are in family and community. This is their little slice of paradise, and it’s an honor to be so warmly welcomed into it.
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