08/12/2026
Even in black and white, you can feel the weather.
That deep summer heat. The sun stretched across the porch, shadows falling through the trees, the afternoon moving slow because nobody had anywhere else they needed to be.
You can hear it if you sit with the picture long enough.
Birds in the trees. Cicadas humming. A fish breaking the pond and a turtle slipping off the bank. Screen doors slamming. Cousins hollering across the yard. Somebody’s mama hollering louder.
Fishing poles left on the porch because something better came along.
You can smell it, too.
Fresh-cut grass. Cotton linens dancing on the clothesline behind the house. Afternoon biscuits still warm in the kitchen. Sweet tea sweating through a glass. Sun-baked skin, pond water, and those awful little smelly shoes somebody finally made the kids take off before coming inside.
It’s Tuesday.
Laundry day.
Summer.
Popsicles melting faster than little hands can keep up with them. Red mouths. Sticky fingers. By the time you get to the bottom, it isn’t a popsicle anymore—it’s Kool-Aid running down your wrist.
And nobody cares.
We’re at Grandma & Grandpa's, Nonnie & Poppies, Meemaw & Papaws. Aunts & Uncles, Brothers & Sisters, First Cousins, Second Cousins, probably a few thirds and fourths running around in there somewhere. Some tied together by blood. Others by a string of friendships and relationships stretched across so many years nobody remembers where friendship ended and family began.
There was always room for one more.
One more chair. One more plate. One more kid spending the night.
And maybe that’s what you can feel most in this picture.
Warmth.
Not just from the summer sun, but from being surrounded by people who knew you, fed you, fussed at you, laughed with you, loved you—and gave you a place in the world before you were old enough to understand how precious that was.
Nobody was soaking up memories.
We were just soaking up life.
And somewhere along the way, those ordinary Tuesdays became the days we’d give anything to have back.
Pictures may say a thousand words.
And just because they weren’t living in color doesn’t mean they weren’t living.
Cotton Creek Farms -
Some places don’t take you somewhere new. They take you back to something old.
