bessie

You know what I’ve always wanted? Cows. Specifically a baby cow, which, is pretty surprising since I saw one birthed at the State Fair when I was younger and I should be traumatized by the fact that it required a farmer pulling chains around the baby’s legs and a three-foot drop to the ground.

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I heard a rumor that cows have personalities like dogs. Friendly, trainable, and loyal. Call them, they come. Feed them, they love you forever.

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Doesn’t that sound nice?

See, you want a cow too.

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How fun would it be to have this guy hanging out behind your house? Chewing cud and regurgitating it so that it finally heads down to his fourth stomach.

Okay, that part is gross. Really gross.

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Aside from not having a farm, the reality is, I’m not going to get a cow or five. Because normal people don’t. Perhaps I’ll just settle for one of these guys one day, when I have the perfect locale for it.

Morbid?

I think not.

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Hey. This too could be yours. Ikea, my friends. Ikea.

Home of all things cheap and quirky.

Cowhide rug.

C’mon. You know you want one too.

Or, if you’re feeling benevolent, I prefer the brown and white to the black and white.

Just in case.

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love, allison

camp conversations.

Hi there.

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In case you missed the memo, last week I went to camp as a group leader for 12 junior girls. It was fabulous, last-minute surprise. And each morning was like reliving high school as the girls changed outfits 4+ times, talked about which boys they liked, spent what seemed like HOURS perfecting hair and makeup, and showed each other their latest Hollister jeans or Rainbow flipflops. Yes, this all happened… while I precariously climbed down from my squeaky, top bunk perch in the stifling heat and wondered if big hairy spiders really could die from aerosol hairspray overdose. (They do. After 3 straight minutes.)

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In honor of camp, I thought I’d give you a top ten list of the spiritually insightful, er, hilariously insane things you would have heard from the mouths of my babes had you been a fly on the wall in my cabin.

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In no particular order:

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1. No. Hot air does not rise. Seriously. It goes out the doors. No, you don’t have to open the doors to fan it out. It seeps through the cracks. Because it’s sneaky like that. Just wait and see.

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2. I hate Wikipedia. Urban Dictionary is a lot better. Except I usually get in trouble for searching it and you can’t use it as a source for research papers.

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3. I need to go find my sister. (Me: why?) Because I had a fight with her and I have to go apologize. (Me: it’s 1 AM. So, no.) But I have to find her and wake her up and tell her I’m sorry. Right now. I have to go right now. (Me: you’ll see her at breakfast.) You know what? The Bible says “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” I have to do what it says. (Me: the sun is already down. It’s been dark for 3 hours.) Well how am I supposed to tell God that you made me sin and you don’t want me to apologize?

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4. OMG! The sophomore girls are sharing showers. No, as in they use the shower together. Um, naked, not bathing suits. I just saw them, that’s how! They got in together and got out together to “save hot water.” That’s just gross. WAY too close of friendship. Does anyone have a bra I can wear?

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5. Do these shorts make my calves look fat?

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6. Five couples at camp have already broken up. Yeah, they felt convicted. Except for the people that got caught making out in the woods. But they’re not together.

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7. I’m really struggling with texting. Yeah, sometimes I send and get ones that aren’t good sometimes. I’m going to ask my mom to take texting off my phone. What? No, I’m not going to ask her to check it. I mean get rid of it. Well, maybe I won’t. Cause how would I know if the guy I’m talking to likes me?

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8. I know you found out I had my iPod. (Me: why didn’t you turn it in like everyone else?) Cause I didn’t know I had to. (Me: then why did you hide it under your pillow?) Cause that’s where I always keep it. (Me: I hoped you’d turn it in out of obedience.) Well I hoped all week you’d punish me and take it away. You know, do something authority-ish. (Me: really? That’s your argument?)

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9. I’m very sorry to interrupt, Allison, but… no, it can’t wait. I just thought you should know that there’s a spider crawling on your head.

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10. Oh, we bring ropes and bungee cords every year. Because that way we can tie our doors shut. The last night of camp the seniors try to prank everyone. We like to come prepared in case they try to scare us and ruin our stuff. If you have to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, maybe you can just use a cup in our room.

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love, allison

no tickling without permission.

Hi neighbors.

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I’m hanging out with Barnabas. No, not the Biblical guy. My new friend. A gangly, long-legged, curly-haired, black GoldenDoodle. Yeah, he’s the wrong color. Black, not golden. Oops. Somehow the gene pool of Poodle + Golden Retriever didn’t do him any favors in the hue department. Still awesome though. And friendly. His name means “encourager,” but I think the only thing he’s encouraged me to do is pet him. Seriously, this dog is needy for attention. Needy as in, you can’t sit on the couch without him putting his mangy paw up on your lap in a desperate attempt to get you to love on him. It’s quite endearing. Unless you’re trying to nap.

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Here’s Barnabas. Don’t let the picture fool you into thinking he’s a small mop of a dog. Nope. His head nearly reaches the top of my legs, and while that may not mean a lot since I’m 5’4”, he really is the size of a small pony. Except skinny. No lie.

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See, he’s gangly. All legs. Just like my friend Lindsey, who, by the way, is going to Uganda this month to work with orphans. In this moment I’m experiencing righteous envy of her opportunity AND her long legs.

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Anyway, the best part about Barnabas is that his family has an awesome Family Rules sign plastered on the wall.

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Rule #1?

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No tickling without permission.

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I’m cool with that rule. In fact, I might adopt it. Oh, and the no interrupting unless there’s blood. Those are rules to live by. But I’m fine with you eating off my plate. Really. I’m happy to share.

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Moral of the story, friends? Don’t tickle unless you ask permission.

But if you ask me, my answer is going to be no.

Every. Time.

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love, allison

morning with Jan

Hey you.

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I spent time with my neighbor, Jan, the other morning. If you don’t know about her blueberry cobbler you’ve got to get up to speed.

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Here’s how I thought my morning with Jan was going to go:

1. Gather blueberry cobbler and recipe.

2. Walk down 1 flight of stairs, knock and exchange pleasantries.

3. Hug and leave.

Estimated total time? 5 minutes, tops.

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Oh no, that’s not even remotely what happened. It really went more like this:

1. Gathered blueberry cobbler and recipe.

2. Walked down 1 flight of stairs, knocked and exchanged pleasantries.

3. Jan asked me to put the cobbler in the fridge. She was feeling tired.

4. Jan trapped me.

5. Two homemade cookies, one cup of orange juice, one cup of coffee, three different sitting locales, and two-thousand stories (along with probably four hundred calories) later,

6. Jan asked me to take her for drive to look at real estate (she’s a former agent).

7. Jan asked me to clean her house for money so her cleaning lady didn’t have to come.

8. Jan told me her ex-husband tried to rape her deceased daughter. She divorced him, never to marry again.

9. Jan gave me a book to read about her deceased daughter.

10. Jan gave me a cookbook to “practice out of.” Apparently my cobbler wasn’t up to snuff.

11. Jan asked me to take her junk to Goodwill.

12. Jan invited me on several senior citizen trips, including one later this month and a 3-day trip in October where “I could be her roommate!”

13. Jan asked if I’d like all of her recipe collection.

14. Jan told me she paid cash for her car and her home and had saved enough for a nursing home.

15. Jan asked me to look up the repercussions of having your spleen removed. She still has hers.

16. Jan shared that she likes muumuu’s so she doesn’t have to wear a bra.

17. Jan said she’s going to call me tonight to pick up vanilla yogurt and plans to make other desserts to bring to up to my 2A place soon. She is not happy about me wanting to lose a mere 5 lbs.

18. Jan asked if I wanted to have weekly coffee and orange juice with her.

19. Jan wanted to know why we had all scratched up the hallway walls when we moved furniture in and out.

20. Jan showed me pictures of her grandchildren and grand nieces and nephews, including two that are “not pretty at all. It’s a shame.”

21. Phones rang, exchanged quick goodbyes and hugs, and ran up 1 flight of stairs to escape!

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So yeah, God has a very, very funny sense of humor, especially since my planned “quick” visit was an hour and a half long. I only escaped thanks to an unknowing friend who called at a very opportune moment, just as Jan received a call from the county fire department in search of donations. If it hadn’t been for my phone call, I’d still be there three days later, listening to her complain about our other neighbors.

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But here’s where I get hung up. Why is it easier and more natural for me to be teary-eyed watching an elderly stranger slowly crossing the street, than to show compassion and grace to the bitter-spirited Christ follower living downstairs?

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I think I am going to have to take her for a drive. I’ll tote her stuff to Goodwill. I’ll try out a few recipes and maybe even share. I’ll print out all I can find from WebMD’s spleen page. I may even clean and organize her house. And I’ll choke down some vanilla yogurt with my blueberry cobbler (such a stretch, right?). But no way, no how am I going to be Jan’s traveling companion in October. Please, Jesus, don’t make me do that.

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love, allison

baking for Jan

Hey again.

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Jan is my downstairs neighbor. You know, the one who calls at 12:30 AM to tell me that me moving suitcases out of the closet is keeping her awake? The neighbor who scolds me because she’s convinced that “ants come in on the dog, jump off, and file down to her condo.” Um, I don’t have ants. Most recently, she’s the one who wrote a scathing note and posted the Ten Commandments with the eighth circled on the front of the building last week after her potted gardenia went missing. And how could I forget? She’s the same neighbor who, even though she’s aware people own these twelve condos and do not rent, decided to begin a petition to kick the “afro american” girl out of the building because she’s rude.

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So, that’s Jan.

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Last night Jan mentioned she had blueberries and wanted a blueberry cobbler. What that meant was, she really wanted someone to make a blueberry cobbler for her. In a moment of sheer delirium, I decided to turn the other cheek (even though he is maddeningly passive aggressive and mean everyone in our little building), and make her a blueberry cobbler. Then I realized she wanted me to make it in her condo so she could watch. Seriously, what could I possibly teach a 70-something year old woman about culinary concepts? Has she seen my most recent cheesecake? But, I continued to agree to bake it, on my terms. This is how the conversation went down:

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“You can just come down here tomorrow and make it when you’re free.” Um, Jan, my day is full.

“What about tomorrow night?” I think I have plans.

“Well, when can you do it then?” I’m going to need to do it later tonight. You’ll be asleep.

“But I’m going to need to know how to make it.” I’ll print you a recipe to follow.

“Well I don’t want you to have to use your ingredients, flour and such.” It’s okay, really.

“It’s silly for you to use your electricity.” No worries, it only bakes about 25 minutes.

“Well I’m not going to want the whole thing.” I’ll just split it and bring you 1/2 in the morning.

“You can’t leave it out all night.” Have no fear, I have a refrigerator in my kitchen, too.

“Well how will I warm it up?” It can go back in the oven for a few minutes.

“It will need some ice cream. I’ll give you some.” You don’t need to do that. I’m eating healthier.

“Well what time tomorrow can you bring it?” How about around 9?

“Let me look at my calendar.” (Really?!?) Yes, that’s fine. I’ll come down and knock.

“Okay, thanks. Come get the blueberries.” Yes ma’am.

click.

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Last night I baked for Jan. If I’m honest, my real motivation wasn’t simply to be nice to her and show grace she didn’t deserve, it was to bribe her into being less crazy to me. I even said aloud, “this will go a long way.” And what I meant was, “this will go a long way in making her not complain about suitcases moving, ants that aren’t coming from my condo, or ask me to sign ridiculous petitions… because she’s literally crazy. Maybe this will make her less crazy to me.”

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God has a very, very funny sense of humor. So funny, I can hardly. stop. laughing.

Can you sense my sarcasm?!

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You’ll have to read about His sense of humor in a day or two, when I can justly describe just how great my morning interaction with Jan was. SO GREAT.

Yes, I totally know just how unfair I’m being to you by not finishing the story.

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love, allison

christmas in july.

Hey you.

Look at this gem of a photo I found the other day! Nope, it didn’t come out of a family photo album. In fact, I have no idea who these people are. Well, actually, that’s not complete truth.

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I happened to be perusing one of my treasure troves the other day, that happens to sell some really cool vintage things, and happened to open the drawer of a table with great bones that would look stellar laquered with the paint gun I’ve been lusting after. Lo and behold, what did I happen to come across?

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A jolly Santa, and two of his adorably 80s friends. January 1984, to be exact. What a treasure! It was my Christmas in July!

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Also inside the drawer that happened to house this one-of-a-kind photo? Address labels. Bet Mr. C.  doesn’t know they’re still in there. Or that any random Joe Schmoe or Jane Doe could find them and pay him a friendly visit.

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Questions to ponder:

Is Mr. C. dressed as Santa, or is he the guy in the black-framed glasses that look remarkably like the ones that have recently come back in style?

Is that a coat of arms behind their heads or just a weird gold wall hanging?

Is that Mr. C.’s wife, beaming in her fur-trimmed winter coat, or does she belong with the other guy?

Is that a pillow under Santa’s costume, or does he boast a natural belly full of jelly?

What do you think?

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Honestly, this photo makes me smile so much, I’ve considered sharing it with Found Magazine, but I don’t think I can part with it.

Oh, before I go, I’ll mention that Mr. C. also had a thing for collecting freebie sewing kits (you know, the ones that have three needles and five colors of thread with two black buttons?), library card envelopes (perhaps he was a circulation clerk?), illegible notes with script handwriting, and pennies. Don’t worry. I only took the photo.

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Stealing?

I’m not sure.

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love, allison

Bookish

Hi lovelies.

Here’s a confession: I read multiple books at once. Yes, I know it’s schizophrenic and frustrating to many brains (including mine, sometimes!), but that’s what happens. It satisfies my inner A.D.D. That’s what I tell myself at least, so I can blame my insanity on something other than well, my insanity. Ha!

Sometimes it takes weeks and weeks, and often months, just to finish a book. But the great news is, I never just finish one book, I finish multiples! Usually the number hovers around four. Now that’s cause for celebration! After celebration? A  trek to the library and Barnes & Noble to carefully select a new smorgasbord of books that’ll keep me on my toes.

To be fair, there’s at least one “fluffy” book in the mix. Something funny like The Know-It-All or a guilty pleasure like Twilight. It keeps me from being overloaded with information, history lessons, bible studies, or “how-to.” Let me just clarify something, for those of you who haven’t read a single word since I typed the word Twilight: I did not go see the movie premieres at 12 AM, or in the theater at all, but I might have a friend who did.

Back to the point of this note…

In my reading stack of late, I’ve come across a few things too great to hoard. Get ready to copy [control + c] and paste [control + v]; you’re going to want to Tweet these suckers.

The fountains from which love flows are in God, not in us. It is absurd to think that the love of God is naturally in our hearts, as a result of our own nature. His love is only there because it “has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit.” (Rom 5:5). – Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

A woman who is unveiling her beauty is inviting others to life. She risks being vulnerable; exposing her true heart and inviting others to share theirs. She is not demanding, but she is hopeful. She entices others to the heart of God. You see, ultimately, a woman invites us to know God. To experience through her that God is merciful. That He is tender and kind. That God longs for us – to be known by us and to know us. She invites us to experience that God is good, deep, lovely, alluring. – John & Stasi Eldridge, Captivating.

These kinds of quotes make me thankful for people who understand the truths of Scripture and relay them to people like me in a way that is so personal. I’ve walked away from reading portions of these two books changed in the way I view the love of Christ in me (through the Holy Spirit) and desiring to unveil His beauty in my life to others, so they are invited to experience God’s goodness. Wow. Do I live believing that the love I give to others is a result of the ‘goodness’ of my character? Do I think it’s just a result of who I am? Or do I believe the love I extend to others is the reflection of the love that Christ has given me and flows through me only because of the Holy Spirit? Even so, If I believe it’s His love and not my own (which I do), am I giving it to others in a way that invites them to experience God’s deepness? (Um. Sometimes?) Convicting.

Okay, now for a blurb from the funny book in my stack. My friend Lisa former neighbor met and began dating Nick Mr. Match.com, near the end of 2009. If I’d been reading this book at the time, I would have certainly passed along these e-dating deal breakers from A. J. Jacobs’ most-recent book, The Guinea Pig Diaries:

1. If the guy uses the word lady or ladies in his opening e-mail

2. If the guy lists his best feature as “butt” (ironically or not)

3. If the guy uses more than two exclamation points in one sentence (e.g., “Hello there beautiful!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)

4. If the guy misspells the first word of his introductory essay. (“Chemestry is important.”) I don’t want to be a spelling snob, but the first word?

5. If the guy’s opening photo features a shot in which his head is tilted more than 20 degrees to the left or right

6. If the guy has a photo of his Jet-Ski or snowmobile on his page

7. If the guy is wearing sunglasses, any hat besides a baseball cap, or is bare-chested in his main photo

8. If the guy refers to female anatomy anywhere in his initial correspondence (e.g., “I’m not a professional, but uh, I’d be happy to take a look”)

Thankfully, Mr. Match.com passed this deal breakers test, even though his profile is now months old and hasn’t been used since he met former neighbor. (Cue “awwww” from readers.) They’re happily planning a summer visit to see his parents in the country. (Again, awwww.)

It’s time now for bed (in fact, past time!), but I want to leave you with this, Paul’s words to the Thessalonians:

May the Lord make your love for one another and for all people grow and overflow, just as our love for you overflows. May He, as a result, make your hearts strong, blameless, and holy as you stand before God our Father.” 1 Thes 3:12-13

Love, Allison

sickness education 101

Hi friends and strangers,

I’m pretty sure I had the Bubonic Plague last week. Really. It’s been great. So great, in fact, that I just couldn’t wait to write up this little post for you: Sickness Education 101, to share all the things I learned in my moments of distress. Sickness Education 101 is nothing short of a scholastic jewel, slightly entertaining, and definitely not exaggerated. Not one bit.

Here goes; take notes!

Things I Learned from the Plague:

1. Kleenex with lotion are definitely worth the extra dollar. When suffering from the plague, please save yourself from the embarrassment of red, chapped nostrils. You’ll thank yourself on day 5 of nose blowing, even if you’re slightly poorer. If you get desperate and dry-skinned enough, they also work on hands, faces, and feet. Sort of.

2. Puppies like shredding and eating said Kleenex with lotion. Apparently the smell is irresistible for four-legged monsters friends. They will steal them straight out of the box, if necessary, and run. Around and around. They’re faster than you. You’ll find shreds of Kleenex everywhere. Hear me on this part: cleanup is not the worst part. Digestion is.

3. Drinking green tea at night will temporarily relieve your sore throat, but results in laying awake for the next 5.5 hours, which leads to…

4. Middle-of-the-night TV is the worst, even worse than daytime Soaps. In the span of a few moments, you’ll be convinced you need blueberry bushes, hanging strawberry gardens, Japanese knives, nail dazzles, bark buster, 6 second abs, 3 minute legs, and the 10 minute trainer. Don’t forget OxiClean (RIP Billy Mays), and Hatteras Yachts, if you’re dying to spend 200K at 2 AM.

5. Don’t answer the door. Be honest with yourself, you’re not going to fool the UPS guy or the girl selling wrapping paper into thinking you were just “resting.” One quick glace is enough to convince them that you’re horribly infected with something they probably need a health department vaccination for.

6. Ramen noodles are not a Campbell’s replacement. In delirium, don’t believe that something that costs mere pennies will taste like your favorite red-labeled chicken noodle soup. Your college taste buds have changed. Resist the temptation of the plastic package and whopping 450 calories. Your mouth and sodium levels can’t take the shock.

7. Magazines are your friends. Pottery Barn. Family Circle. Good Housekeeping. Real Simple. People. US Weekly. You may even resort to JC Penney, but don’t admit it. Whatever the case, keep your new found information to yourself. Your real life friends will not forgive you for knowing who Kim Kardashian is dating. This week.

8. Running on the treadmill will not help you sweat out your sickness. Even if you try it for three successive days. And wear a garbage bag. Just kidding about the garbage bag. But don’t think it didn’t cross my mind once or eleven times. Who wouldn’t love to shed a little water weight in time for swimsuit season and get rid of the plague in one fell swoop?

9. Medicine is a sham. Here’s the thing. If you drink a little cup of magic Nyquil, you’re admitting that you feel so awful that you’d rather zombie through the next 4 days of your life than face the plague. Except in the case of #3. On the other hand, Dayquil is like Nyquil with a splash of something “special” that convinces you to bake 24 chocolate-chip cookies and a can of croissants, wash a load of laundry, and play fetch with the dog in 95 degree weather so he doesn’t feel neglected. It’s heart-racing fun, all in one orange swig. What it boils down to is that you either have to agree to a multi-day coma or being on speed. There is no in-between.

10. Being a mouth-breather isn’t socially acceptable. Yes, it’s gross to drool on your pillow and annoying to have a continually parched throat, but just think of others around who are listening to you labor to get oxygen in and out. Plus, it’s really not cute to be the person who, when smiling, has to leave a gap between top and bottom teeth to exhale. If air can’t physically move through your nasal passages, stay home.

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If you’re wondering why I didn’t go to the doctor, I’ll put it simply: it would’ve been way too easy, and how would you have learned to handle your next Bubonic bout?

I’m happy to share that I may finally be on the upswing of this nastiness. Soon, my sniffles and smoker’s cough will be a thing of the past, and you’ll be wise with viral knowledge. Literally.

Don’t forget to take your vitamins.

Love, Allison

today is THAT day.

Today is THAT day. From the start until now, it has proven to be everything but nice. I’ve barely escaped unscathed, and here’s how it went down.

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1. Woke up at 6:38. On a day I don’t work. Attempted to sleep again. Couldn’t. Gave up and got up. Let Scout out of kennel. He jumped on bed. Sat to pet him. He peed. Where? On me. On the bed. Comforter, sheets and all. Stupid dog.

Anyone want a not-so-housebroken not-so-puppy?

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2. Worked out. For a mere 21 minutes. Ripped my shorts. How, do you ask? It is possible, you know. Yep. Your pocket can get caught on the machine as you’re walking past it. Trust me. It’s possible. So maddening.

I quit.

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3. Went to the pool instead. Relaxed for a few minutes. Reread part of Crazy Love. What could go wrong? It was hot and beautiful. Gave my squinting eyes a break. Set book on the table. Right in a puddle of water. Wanted to throw the whole thing in the pool. Except that it’s Eric’s copy.

Sorry, brother.

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4. Needed to go to TJ Maxx. Thought I knew the way. It’s in another part of town. Seriously, curses on 40 and 421. I do not understand the two of them. Or their stupid relationship. And why, when I can clearly see the interstate, I am not able to get on it. A 15 minute drive became 40. Ish.

How scenic.

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5. Finally arrived. Found a summer purse. Super! Tried to buy it. Cashier rang it up. Realized it was ripped. Ugh. Searched for another. Did they have it? Nooooooooo. Why? Because TJ Maxx is not a department store.

Shopping at Macy’s from now on.

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6. Went to Wal-Mart. Bought a choke-chain collar for Scout. Because he’s dumb. And pulls your arm out of socket. Especially if he smells something “good.” Which, in reality, could be anything from poop to steak. Got to the car. Loaded my bags. Drove home. Did the choke-chain collar come home with me? Nope. It’s still sitting in my basket. In the middle of the parking lot. Or in the pocket of one lucky cart boy.

Three dollars and one choke-chain poorer.

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It’s truth. Today is THAT day. So bad that it’s funny. Can’t be redeemed, but alas, I’m in good spirits. Here are the good moments:

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1. Found a great shirt at TJ Maxx. Not quite as great as the purse, but still.

Small victory.

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2. And a pair of exercise capris.

Don’t judge.

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3. Helped a handicapped man get groceries. Chicken salad and pimento cheese. It was my feel-good moment of the day, even if pimento cheese is disgusting. Thinking, however, that I should’ve helped him make better choices.

Hindsight is 20/20.

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4. Good call with another prospective church today. They’ve asked me to visit. Determining dates later this week, and totally seeking God’s direction on this one.

Eek!

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5. Great emails too, from people far and near. Everyone loves an ego boost every now and again. A modest ego boost, that is. We wouldn’t want to get all puffed up, would we? Oh no. We are soooooo humble, and proud of it. Gasp!

Why am I saying “we” when I should say “I”?

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6. Bought my first pool float. On sale, no less, for a mere $5! I’m going to feel awesome when I can finish reading the wrinkled pages of Eric’s book while floating on a giant green pillow. Oh yeah, that’s going to be the good life. If only I didn’t have to wait another 6 days to do it.

Hurry up, Sunday afternoon!

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On tonight’s agenda? Ibuprofen for my headache, a reward cookie for my pride, and a long talk with Scout about how not cool it is to relieve himself indoors. Oh, and an early bedtime. Why? Because today is THAT day; I’m refusing to let tomorrow be that day too.

Glass half full.

Hope your day was less awfully laughable than mine!

Love, Allison

country girl

I love the country. Even if I’m not country-fied.

Friday I had the chance to visit my family’s land in the deep mountains of Virginia. Floyd is in the sticks;  in fact, the 2000 U.S. Census reported a population of less than 500. In recent years, Floyd’s “downtown” has been transformed into an artist’s paradise, and the Friday Night Jamboree at the Floyd Country Store we went to as kids is more popular now than ever. The town is part of a counter-culture movement; lots of galleries, music venues, all-natural and handmade goods, the whole nine. The mix of old and new (and weird and really weird) is hilarious. Downtown is now hub of people and activity. I’ve never seen so many cars in this sleepy town that until a couple of years ago boasted only a Hardees, a Subway, and two stoplights.

My trip wasn’t about scoping out the newest and neatest stuff downtown, I really went to visit my family’s property which is leased by farmers who grow corn and raise beef cattle. The land is beautiful (400+ acres), about 15 minutes from downtown. It’s where my  my Pop, my mom’s dad, humbly grew up with his 5 siblings, 2 parents, and little else.

This visit was sweet. After hopping the locked fence and ignoring the TRESPASSING sign, I walked the dirt paths, splashed in the creek, listened to lots of songbirds, and saw plenty of deer tracks. The air was crisp, the sky a little cloudy, the breeze blew through the fields like a scene from Lion King; it literally couldn’t have been more perfect. I picked a flower to wear in my hair. A purple iris. My great-grandmother grew them outside of her house before it burned down many, many moons ago. It’s amazing the bulbs still bloom after all these years; and it’s equally amazing that the barns are still standing too. They are chock full of vintage furniture and things from another era. Dressers, wire baskets, turned legs from tables, glass jars, ceramic bowls, metal bed frames. So cool. The treasures in this old red barn are dying to come home with me and I’ve been dreaming about beautifully painting and modernizing them. Pretty sure I’ll go back one day with a truck to snag them, when it’s too cool for snakes to slither around in warm barns.

It was fun to remember running these hills as a kid, feeding my great-aunt’s dog, Cappy. Flying through the fields on a 3-wheeler with my dad. Killing snakes. Picking (and eating) lots of blackberries, listening to wind chimes and cuckoo clocks all set to different times. The smell of honeysuckle is still intoxicating. What great memories.

I wore my boots. You know, my wannabe cowboy boots. Totally appropriate. Especially for wading through thigh-high hay fields and tromping through the red clay mud near the creek. Really made a difference. Thankfully I only got made fun of twice or three hundred times. Even the cows looked at me strangely. Why? Because people in Floyd wear boots. Real boots. Not Steve Madden. I’m such a city-fied country girl.

Wouldn’t it be great to have a big fat farmhouse, restored in all of its glory, with modern finishes and plenty of charm, sitting in the middle of these fields? Throw in a cute hubby, a few freckled little offspring, a dog or two, and a garden and I might just be in country heaven. If there were a Target around the bend beyond the hollow, just past the place the ‘coons have a nest.

Join me? We could be neighbors.

love, allison