Confessions of a closet southern boy

Blue Ridge Mountains

Bluegrass. Sitting on the porch swing. Hounds. Pickin’ guitar. Barn cats. Pickup trucks. Grandma’s quilt.

Mountains. Fall colors. Dogwoods. Clear mountain streams. Peach trees. Starry nights. Just up the holler. The peaceful silence of snow covered pines.

It’s amazing the trouble we relocated Southerners have to go through just to find the food — the easy stuff on the first list…

“Southern” isn’t a place, it’s a way of life, but it’s tough to have one without the other.