My parents
used to have a house
on Lake Martin near the community of Walnut Hill, Alabama.
Walnut Hill has exactly one traffic light, one general store, one water tower,
one volunteer fire department, and one bar - the "World Famous Rodeo
Club". (I am sure you've heard of it.)
My
folks lived there during the warmer months of the year, and each July 4th
we would all convene upon them for about a week. It was a tradition I relished and
rituals I looked forward to repeating each year. We would wake up early every
morning to enjoy the porch before the heat and humidity grew
thick. We swam, took boat rides, lay in the hammock and read, took naps,
grilled out, and spent our evenings sitting on the porch listening to the
roar of the crickets and ciccadas. And for some reason, we would always end up
with an unintentional theme for the week. One year we watched an entire
8 part series on the history of the wild west. Other years it was slides
and stories from Hal and Steve's safari in Namibia, then the family
vacation to Glacier and Yellowstone.
I
liked going there because it reminds me of the days when I was very clear
on what matters and what doesn't. For example, the roar of crickets and
ciccadas at night matters. Year-end bonuses do not. Kids squealing
delightedly on a raft behind a ski boat matter. Having or not having the
new, brightly-striped Kate Spade beach tote from Neiman's does not
matter. In fact, I would bet money that no one in Walnut Hill, Alabama
would notice - or better still - care. I love that. And I love that in a
place lake Walnut Hill you can go days at a stretch without putting on shoes.
Here are a few pictures
and little facts about the place we called home each summer...