We took the girls for a Sunday afternoon drive in the country recently to the hubby’s grandmother’s farm. Although there weren’t yet any tomatoes, we came home with some fine homegrown squash and potatoes. Now Grandmother Jen passed away several years ago, but the farm is still in the family. It’s a bonafide Middle Tennessee with an old barn and an outhouse and a front porch with an worn wooden glider and a croquet set that the hubby remembers playing with as a boy. The old house sits empty, the flowerbeds are overgrown and the porch is quiet, but there is still homegrown goodness on the land. My father-in-law’s cousin plants a heck of a garden every spring and we usually drive up a few times every summer because the magnetic force of homegrown tomatoes is too great to resist.
We went on a squash hunt and Miss A insisted on running in between the rows of plants with a strand of purple beads in one hand and a pink Cinderella flip phone in the other because apparently she was expecting a very important call and she also needed to be able to accessorize with just a moment’s notice.
As we were leaving the garden, this old weathered chair caught my eye. I couldn’t really get a good shot of it unless I took a few steps on to someone else’s property. So I did. Some things just on the edge of your peripheral vision beg to be admired and photographed, even an old country chair.