Beneath a quilt somebody’s mother made by hand
With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations
And the peach trees stitched across the land.
There’ll be cider up near Helen by the roadside
And boiled peanuts in a bag to warm your fingers
And the smoke from the chimneys meets its maker in the sky
With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers.
And there’s something ’bout the Southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I’m gone
It won’t ever be too long,
When I’m home again to spend my favorite season
(When God make me born a Yankee, he was teasin’)
There’s no place like home, and none more pleasin’
Than the Southland in the springtime.
– Indigo Girls
peach trees stitched across the land
(on the verge of bloom, which is always spectacular)
[and to the people driving behind me: I’m sorry if I scared you when I whipped out my camera while driving and began taking photos out of both driver and passenger windows.
This is a busy week for me, typically the busiest of my year, so I will be silent a tad more before I show a few things I’ve made in the last two weeks. Big thanks for the great props y’all gave me for my fun jammy pants. I have loved wearing them!
In the meantime, a few more shots of God’s country.