My annual trip Outside this winter has taken me deep into the South–way down past where the Appalachian Mountains start, down where Spanish moss hangs from the leafy branches of big old live-oak trees and some folks still grow cotton. They wouldn’t know what to think about the way biscuits get toasted in Alaska.
Down here, cow pastures are still green this time of year. You see a lot of bony hound dogs, and some small towns look abandoned, especially when you get a far piece from the cities. You wonder how on earth anyone makes a living. I reckon you’d have to leave to find work if you wanted it, and you’d always be a little homesick. I didn’t grow up this far south, but I know you’d miss home.
Copyright 2016. Genie Hambrick
The Cheechako Diaries 