tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19305198.post2024664190275584967..comments2024-03-18T19:36:10.480-04:00Comments on Assistant Village Idiot: Home, Away From HomeAssistant Village Idiothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01978011985085795099noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19305198.post-52753707437174530172018-11-26T12:41:57.461-05:002018-11-26T12:41:57.461-05:00This was lovelyThis was lovelyGraniteDadhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04851407860883846133noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19305198.post-73492231525147240312018-11-25T10:53:51.786-05:002018-11-25T10:53:51.786-05:00daylight "hour" not "house"daylight "hour" not "house"<br />Texan99https://www.blogger.com/profile/10479561573903660086noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19305198.post-29353669819010632502018-11-25T10:53:12.294-05:002018-11-25T10:53:12.294-05:00My childhood vacations usually meant visiting the ...My childhood vacations usually meant visiting the grandfolks and cousins on a North Carolina farm. The pre-civil-war farmhouse stamped my psyche forever as the ideal of residential architecture, but what I remember most vividly to this day is spending every daylight house down at the creek with my cousin, trying to build a dam with loose creekbed gravel, learning about the force of water and the need for side channels. Half a century later I still can remember the exact prickle of wet leaves on my bare feet on the path down to the creek, and the smell of the wet rocks. My family didn't camp, but I did go to a couple of weeks of Girl Scout camp most summers, and developed a lifelong taste for it.<br /><br />When we moved here to Rockport my first priority was a piece of land with woods on it. What could be better than crawling about in woods and thick brush? I know every square inch of this land. Every time I come back up my driveway it makes me happy.Texan99https://www.blogger.com/profile/10479561573903660086noreply@blogger.com