There’s something in the air.


Dad in 1969.


My grandmother, Betty, and grandaddy, Levi, in 1970.



Dad and Aunt Carol in 1971.


I’m not sure what it is about this time of year, but every fall I become nostalgic.

I find myself craving all things old.


Maybe it’s because my dad has told me stories about his college football season experiences since I was a kid. Maybe it’s because I  can start to smell that comforting smell of firewood in my grandaddy’s old cabin, though I haven’t smelt it since I was 4 years old.

I’m a sucker for tradition. I like a little change, which is why I’m okay with new things any other time of the year, but when fall rolls around I want the familiar turning leaves, warm colors, football games, pumpkin patches, bright sun with cool breezes, and, most importantly, memories.

They don’t even have to be my own; I find myself just looking through all of the old photos dad has tucked away in boxes. Something about the quality of an old photo brings me comfort..

I love reminiscing any time of the year, but for some reason once the air changes, so does my personality. I become this calm, homebodied human being who just wants to write all the time (hence the two blog posts in one weekend after months of no update).

Maybe I’m crazy. It’s probably just something I tell myself to try to make sense of it.

Either way, this season has a hold on me. And I love it.


Until next post,




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