Birthday dinner with a view.
Rocky Top lost a Giant today.
Those summers were magic. Days spent hunting honeysuckle. Dusk setting in late. The sun was out until well past normal bedtime, but as it set, the sky would begin to glow. Alive, pulsing. The orbs flashing as lighthouses for young boys and girls, beckoning them out into the yards and into the trees and off of porches and out of beds. To capture them was to bottle the night. After we'd placed them on the dresser, jars full of 'em, we crawled into bed and had light that led us into dreams.
We first entered in May of '07. I'd never lived north of Durham, North Carolina, but I needed it. Snow. Cold. Distance. History. We drove up and passed these signs. These shapes. Welcoming us to ancient villages and hamlets and prayer towns of New England. We left for a time, but we came back. Now our daughter will know nothing but these signs. They'll be just as familiar to her as they were foreign to me. And I'm okay with that.
Ever since year one, which was five hundred and three years ago, Florida has been all over the board. How are you going to boil down all that Spanish and British and Native American and deep Southern heritage into one print? Well, we’ve taken a stab and made an effort to give something to the 27th state in the Union – a print for those Southerners who are in the sunshine state and who feel just as connected to Dixie as the rest of us. While Southerners might, at times, turn their back on Florida, she isn’t turning her back on them – nor anyone else. And isn't that what being Southern is about anyways?
A federal town nestled between two Southern states but part of neither. Taxed but not represented. Loved and loathed by the voting public based on her residents. Her location chosen by one of our finest men, a man with a family crest. Who was first in a long line of great men. Men with ideas and men with families and men with stories. Men who've shared the same 68 square miles for the past two hundred and some odd years. For some of those men, its where they live just four years. But for us all, it's home. Where our story begins. Just 'cause The District isn't a state doesn't mean we shouldn't let her pull up a chair at the table come Thanksgiving. She's one of us. Just far enough north to get snow, but far enough South to warrant seersucker. We may be Southern, but more than that, we're American. And there's room at the table for us all.
Tonight, I'm going as a dad to hang out with another dad to watch with all the dads whose dads and grand dads have never seen Cleveland win a title. This is bigger than sports. This is what little guys and big guys will remember, in victory or defeat, for forever. I'm right here with you, Ohio. #believeland
I couldn't fully grasp the love of the Father until I became one.
They're surely disappearing. I saw my first painted barn on the way up to Pulaski. On a back highway. Lonely, off in the distance, hollering. The words were a collection that didn't make sense to the young boy, riding in the car with his Pa. Then, over the years, I'd see them less and less. Falling back into the kudzu or painted over 'cause of legislation. But you can't take that memory. Every time I see one, I remember that day: driving with the windows down, listening to A.M., with nowhere to go and a long time to get there. #letterpress #madeinusa #southern #tennessee #alabama #georgia
The other day, a big paper in New York City decried the disappearance of manners. And not just folks' manners north of the line, but Southerners. Well, Momma didn’t raise no heathens, and we thought this would be the right time to remind us all of what she and Daddy taught us. Manners might be going out of fashion up here, but they aren’t going to disappear from the South. Not on our watch, they’re not. No ma'am.
Our prints are typically 13"x 20". But when we saw that @cottonandpine in Montgomery had a hundred and ten year old press that could print twice that size, we had to call them up. And here's the result. A big, old, beautiful flag for The Volunteer State.
You are now entering (and leaving) Hot Coffee, Mississippi. Back in 1870, a fella named L.J. Davis built a store and hung a sign that advertised "the best coffee around." His brewed it with pure spring water, beans from New Orleans, and molasses drippings. As his shop was on a major trade road, folks started remembering the sign and using it to mark the route and the promise of it drink to warm their weary bodies. The town never really got any bigger than it was then, but the legend of the sign sure did.