In the tenth year of our friendship, I’ve decided to compose a little post, just for my friend Kyle.
This is about my grandaddy’s farm near Washington, Georgia.
- Of course the road is named after us!
We may or may not live on about 500 acres of pine seed and meadow land.
A lone bull. Sulking, as usual.
There are cows, which Grandaddy raises to sell to those awful feedlots, where the cows are sentenced to awful lives and then more awful deaths. Obviously, I’m not pleased by this.
When it’s not so f-ing hot, you can see deer, wild turkey, bunnies and plenty of fig-eating birds.
Yep, that’s a rifle. No, he’s not a member of the NRA. Anymore.
This is my Grandaddy’s solution to a lot of things. He knows how much I enjoy, actually how I basically live to pick and eat figs from our tree every July. This year birds have been a particular problem…until yesterday!
The fig tree of my summertime dreams with the pecan tree of autumn dreams in the background.
I don’t know much about southern plantation type things. But I do know that this house is really old. Like Civil War-era (maybe) old.
The foyer (?) entryway.
It creaks a lot and has a lot of rooms that no one ever uses. Grandaddy doesn’t even turn the air conditioning on upstairs unless someone’s staying with him in the summer.
The sun room with Grandaddy’s office back there.
In the kitchen I baked bread basically every day when I lived here in 2010. Now I basically just eat figs and tomatoes off the vine here, with the occasional almond butter and banana.
And this is my view every morning as I eat my bowl of Raisin Bran with Kashi and walnuts.
Note: Grandaddy’s tomato vines amid the pink crepe myrtle.
Last but not least, we have a place I visit at least twice a day if not three times. Lately, I’ve been swimming when I feel my jet lag and a nap coming on. I am going to stop waking up at 3am one of these days.
And the pool, sandy and filled with red ants, but still awesome.
Grandaddy and I usually swim before dinner when the sun isn’t so hot. But I swim in the mornings too, before my first fig-picking of the day.
I really do love it here.
From Washington to Washington 