Small town feels

Growing up in Southern California my grandparents would always take us on adventures. My grandfather was very much into old abandoned mines, searching for gold and Native American symbols carved into rocks. He always had his camera handy to take a picture so as he could later tell you a story and sing a song about it with his beat up guitar. He would load the green 1964 Rambler station wagon with myself, my brother, the neighbor kids, our cousins and whoever would fit and away went to some old spot in the desert. Grandma would pack us all lunch, with Lucky the dog in tow. I don't think I appreciated these adventures as much as a kid as I do now. One that sticks out in my head the most was when we were in the mountains and our trusty Rambler bottomed out on a hill. A truck passing by had to that are home to birds.

This weekend my fella and I drove out to east Oregon to Grass Valley in search of a ghost town. We happened to find this old church that was abandoned and begging to be shot. As Andrew got ready to sing with his guitar, I let my imagination run wild with the possibles of what could be done with this old dilapidating building. How amazing it would be to live in it. Where would the kitchen go. How beautiful it would look if: all the wood were restored to it's previous glory, the walls were a perfect white, and a loft was built high up and some of the wood on the ceiling taken off to reveal the glorious rafters. I thought about where the pews once sat, and the pulpit once resided. How many people once attended the congregation. How many drifters, scavengers and wonders have crossed paths with this church as it sits in its lonely, yet peaceful state now. Then Andrew began to sing, and it was like having a concert to my self. Through the window in the distance you could see some horses corralled in a field.

When I was a young girl we moved from a suburb of Orange County to a rural part of San Diego. As much as I missed my old city the nice part about our new town was we lived on 2 archers. This meant to me that I finally had enough room to own a horse. We soon purchased two horses and I loved riding them. I would ride to my best friends house, pick her up and we would ride back to my house. One of the things I loved most about them was their noises. The soft part around their mouth protected by whiskers. I would love to give them carrots and watch their upper lip fumble around for a firm grasp of the tasty treat. I did not have a carrot for the horse I tried to befriend on this particular day, but I was quite happy to make his acquaintance nonetheless.

On the opposite side of the road from the horse corral was a small white house. It was uncertain if it was occupied, but was most definitely neglected. The yard had a garden of weeds, and the picket fence had little to no paint. The white paint on the house was chipping to reveal the previous color green. Nestled by the fence in a patch of dead flowers was the biggest dandelion I had ever seen. I don't know about you but I never pass up a opportunity to make a wish on one of these delicate whimsical plants.

On our way back home we stopped in Wasco to check out some old cars and admired some of the old brick warehouses in town. We saw some people working in their yards with the mid day sun glaring. It was the last day of August and you would hardly know that summer was coming to an end with the heat.

I am not one for wearing shorts or sandals in the summer. So this seventies wrap-around skirt is one of my go to's on warm summer days. You can wear it with a perfectly worn in band t-shirt, your favorite body suit, or seen here with my white eye lit night gown worn as a top. Like I said I'm not one for sandals. My version of sandals are Converse, Vans, or Toms. That being said I found this pair of Brazilian wooden sandals in a vintage shop and they are not only comfortable, but they have just the right amount of heel.

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