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I have this beautiful little book entitled:

(My South–A People, A Place, A World Of Its Own.)
Based on works by Robert ST. John.

I feel like sharing some of my favorite thoughts.

“My South is a state of grace.”

(and so it is indeed)

In my South, getting called by your first and middle name, or your full name is NEVER a good thing!
**I heard my full name a lot, this I know to be true!!
Just look at this innocent face…I’ll leave it there to be pondered.
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From cotton fields to sunflower fields…My South was where your hands and your name were sometimes all you had….we learned to use both of them wisely.

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My South has big families where everyone remembers everyone else’s birthday.

I grew up with 23 aunts and uncles/29 first cousins/2nd and 3rd cousins ?? too many to keep up with! A few years ago we had over 300 at a family reunion from that group…some have passed on in the last 2 years and our reunion was put on hold this year.
Then there are all those new babies in the last 3 years..it’s a good thing!
Oh, I should clarify, these numbers are from our maternal side only…..😂

Sweet dreams~

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MY South is azalea and magnolia trees, and kudzu and daylilies!
Listen to the trees, they know the secrets of the rest!
If you know anything about kudzu, you know it is a blessing and a curse!
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In my South, we know where we come from.
Our ancestors are much more than names.
Every year we gather at the family cemetery plots to pay our respects with beautiful flowers and lots of memories.
Sometimes picnic baskets and sometimes another’s back-yard or kitchen table.
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In my South, you can still find the middle of nowhere!
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My South is more than a place on the map.
In My South, there is a link between family and land, of lives sacrificed in it, because a sense of place is that important.
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The road that took us home for so many years, until one day it didn’t, and sometimes, one really can’t go back. Bittersweet memories…forever….forward~

From our house to the main road, and where we boarded the school bus was 2.8 miles long. A narrow country/dirt road bordered on each side with trees and the railroad tracks on one side…wild roses grew amongst the trees from end to end.
Midway on this route, I and my first cousin had a Fort (built from limbs, boards and other scavenger finds…from time to time we would decide to spend the day in our fort instead of going to school. ( We were 8/9 years old and tomboy to the core.)
That didn’t last long, the teacher ratted us out and the rest is history I just as soon forget!

Some 70 years later, the wild roses are still growing on my grandparents’ home-place.
I’m still partial to wild roses.

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God Bless this land…America!