Ever since I can remember, the aunts, uncles and cousins, on my mother's side of the family, gathered together throughout different seasons of the year in an old house on a piece of land we called Green Acres. It was here in the small town of Iola, Texas, where we would pick wild dewberries, go "crawdad" fishing in a water hole, hunt deer on a nearby lease, smoke grapevine cut from trees, ride our minibike up and down the dirt road, shoot bb guns at tin cans, eat freshly made cobbler, and play charades under a large pear tree. Even more often we would do a lot of nothing - but it was everything.
On the side of the house was the door that everyone used. It had a green framed screen door that screeched open and slammed shut, a persistent tattle tale of all the comings and goings. It announced when another favorite cousin had arrived or when the hunters left early before dawn. If there is a single character in the play of my childhood it would be this door.
As life would have it, one day all of us grew up. Many of us moved too far away to attend the reunions. Lured away by the big cities. Busy with our schedules. Green Acres slowly withered, taking punches from the high winds and heavy rains. Paint fading from the sun.
This photo was taken more than 30 years after my childhood. Though it brings some sadness to look at it now, I am grateful for the wonderful piece of my past it represents. What a way to start my photo journey...showcasing the essence of my passion...images of rustic, faded memories overshadowed by resilient colors that remain true.
"...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes..." Isaiah 61:3