When you’ve come this far, might as well keep going

When you’ve come this far, might as well keep going

Hey ya’ll!

Sometimes in life there are stories that tell themselves – we are merely the conveyors of the words or a simple scribe to preserve them.  This is one of those stories; I was merely along for the ride.

I awoke to a balmy seventy degrees in Mobile this morning – a reminder that Fall in the South is a constant battle with the remnants of Summer.  I had decided last night that if I’ve gone this far, there is no way I’m going back home without going to the beach first.  And so I did – and the trip was totally worth it.  I chose Dauphin Island for a few reasons – proximity to where I was staying, it’s an island (which is awesome in itself), I’ve never been there, and the drive looked like more fun than actually getting there. 

I was right.

The drive led me along a parkway that was graced by breaking waves of the ocean on one side and khaki colored grass of a marshland on the other side.  Eventually, the land faded away and it was only ocean on both sides of the parkway. There is something to be said about being totally alone with only a cup of coffee, the new day’s sun, and the fragrance of the ocean in the air. 

Dauphin Island is truly a little gem where Southern Pines, oaks covered in Spanish moss, crepe myrtles, and palm trees all live together.  It is the perfect blend of everything I love in a vast plush green and just beyond that a body of blue that laps against the sand.  I drove the full length of the island and somehow found a station playing those old standards I love so much.  You know the kind – Ray Charles and Bobby Darwin - and for a few minutes I felt like that guy who plays the pilot on Pan Am driving with the top down (corny, but if you watch Pan Am you understand).

So now as I type this, I’m sitting at the University of South Alabama staring out a window at a lush palm tree.  And just behind that is a row of crepe myrtles – I’m going to have a tough time staying indoors this morning.

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

Sometimes the Detours are the Best Parts

Hey Ya'll!

So I’m fully aware that this post has absolutely nothing to do with remodeling my house, but since most of my postings are more about the simple pleasures in life than remodeling, I thought this followed the same theme. 

This week, I have the great pleasure of recruiting for the University (I like to consider this a perk rather than a requirement of my job).  I’m getting paid to drive my convertible across the state.  How awesome is that? I started my week long “Tour de Alabama” at 5:00 sharp this morning.  There was a crispness to the air that could only be part of the Fall in Alabama.  I decided a long time ago when planning this trip that I would take Highway 43 to Tuscaloosa, my first stop, instead of the interstate.  I know, I could have made better time, I could have driven faster, I could have saved gasoline…there are a lot of perks to taking the interstate – but one perk of taking a rural highway trumps the interstate every time – the personality.  My GPS disagreed whole heartedly and insisted I turn around at every available spot.  So we aren’t on speaking terms since I unplugged it and threw it in the glove box. 

As I traversed further south into the state, farms dotted the two lane highway with faded red barns, glistening silos, and steam covered ponds.  It is a weird and yet complacent feeling to watch the sun rise over the treetops of a mountain.  It’s also nearly impossible to find a convenient bathroom in a pinch – but one has the same problem on the interstate and I digress.  In trying to merge from Highway 74 back to Highway 13, I blew past the junction on into God’s Country (Lady Antebellum was blaring on the radio, don’t judge me).  I found a little half-gravel/half-asphalt road that led back to the highway – and the wrong turn was totally worth the detour.  It was a stellar countryside and an exemplary show of the wonders of Fall in the South.

I think the most profound part of my trip this morning was traveling through Phil Campbell and witnessing the scar over this little Southern town.  But that is exactly what it is, folks – a scar from a prevalent wound that is healing with time.  Ravaged houses still dot the landscape alongside wind twisted trees.  But adjacent to these houses are new dwellings with a light that penetrates the darkness – a reminder of the ingenuity and triumph that builds this South.  The wind ravaged trees are full of leaves again.  It’ll be a scar that stays with each of us forever – a subtle reminder of the awesome wonder of God.  But I’m not talking about the wound that caused the scar; I’m talking about the resilience, the persistence, and faith that has healed that bleeding wound to a scar.  I think it is something that can only be found in the South and understood by those people that give the South its distinct flavor.  Be proud of your neighbors, your heritage, and our success as Southerners.  I know I am.

Warm Southern Days,

Russ

Sometimes, the detours really are the best part.