My happiest memories from my childhood all have something to do with my family’s farm.
I even loved the drive out I-20 East from Atlanta that we took every Friday when my dad was done with work. All four of us (plus our dogs and the cats that braved the highway in crates that my dad bungeed down back in the open bed of his pickup truck) shared space in the truck’s cab in a fragile togetherness rarely enjoyed as a young family of four. In the hour long ride, no one spoke besides the inevitable squabble between my older sister and I about who had more space in the back seat. Once our weekly fight began, my mom or dad dealt with the irritation of sibling rivalry by inserting a cassette tape of either bluegrass or country or gospel music and pressing play. And turning the volume up.
I made a playlist that captures the music and feeling of these weekly family pilgrimages to a place that, for me, held the very best of us.
I call it:
The New South.