I love it here
I told Bruce that this is one of those mornings, where, had we been in Edenton, the air would smell strongly of peanuts, and maybe dirt. The cool of the evening and the dawn hovers over the hot ground of the day before in calm mists that dance in the wakening sunlight. I love it here. I love the mornings most, I think, although every hour of every day has a kind of magic out here. It’s lovely when it rains, storms, or shines. We can watch as a crop is planted, grows, and is harvested across the street; we watch the horses come and go, but mostly loiter, behind the growing crop; we watch a neighbor haul in interesting old cars, some with very loud engines that rev, and sometimes we see him test drive them after hours, days, weeks of work. Another neighbor loves the Lord and makes a point of showing kindness to us. He brings us sweet potatoes every Fall, and last year, when we replaced our roof ourselves, he came over everyday and climbed up on the roof to help. Another neighbor has lived an enchanting life of racing cars and growing trees up North. He’s been here for many years, though, so we call him a transplant. He loves to talk about racing and fishing and growing things, and he is very kind. He once tried to help me break into my house when my then-two-year-old locked me outside one day. He was also there for us when my husband shot a nail through his thumb and we rushed to the hospital, our neighbor put all our machines/tools away into our shed while we were gone. Still another neighbor has become even more friendly recently, since we’ve gotten a swimming pool. She popped over and gave us two swim toys for our little girl, and arranged to have all the excess dirt removed after we had some yard work done. We are more than blessed here in this lovely place. It’s magical here. Like the mornings, like a small southern town, like warm and cheerful summer, like home.
