There is a town........
in a world not so far away, called Farmville, NC. I kid you not.
And in this world, there is a scent in the air of days of the past. Tobacco fields and cotton fields greet the sky and seem to pass the time in leisure. Slow down, they say, as cars pass by. Humble farm houses untouched in 40 years seem to argue with the satellite cable dish in the yard, the one trace of their millennial transition. Other buildings sit dilapidated, in ruins, with walls that cry out wanting to tell their stories, too.
In the heart of this town is a small community, and when you enter this community, you step back 50 years into a better time. In this place, everyone knows you name. How easy to feel loved, and perhaps overly important, by the smiles and genuine eyes constantly greeting even strangers. Here it matters not whether your clothes are the appropriate color for the new reason.....it matters not if your hair looks particularly beautiful today. In this place, 12:00 noon Sunday is a mass exodus of families leaving church together, heading to Sunday lunch. There is a calm. A peace. A warmth. One cannot help but ponder if perhaps there is a little monotony as well.
And in this town is a hidden treasure. A rare culinary jewel. Unimaginable in my wildest dreams.
The best prime rib. The most delicious casseroles, oysters, shrimp salad. The yummiest coconut cake.
Within minutes these empty tables filled with churchgoers, greeting one another, laughing, smiling, focusing on their food. Colonial Inn is a rarity. Not so rare are moments I have with my mom and grandmother.....but this step back into the past, this precious Sunday brunch today, I will remember forever.
And in this world, there is a scent in the air of days of the past. Tobacco fields and cotton fields greet the sky and seem to pass the time in leisure. Slow down, they say, as cars pass by. Humble farm houses untouched in 40 years seem to argue with the satellite cable dish in the yard, the one trace of their millennial transition. Other buildings sit dilapidated, in ruins, with walls that cry out wanting to tell their stories, too.
In the heart of this town is a small community, and when you enter this community, you step back 50 years into a better time. In this place, everyone knows you name. How easy to feel loved, and perhaps overly important, by the smiles and genuine eyes constantly greeting even strangers. Here it matters not whether your clothes are the appropriate color for the new reason.....it matters not if your hair looks particularly beautiful today. In this place, 12:00 noon Sunday is a mass exodus of families leaving church together, heading to Sunday lunch. There is a calm. A peace. A warmth. One cannot help but ponder if perhaps there is a little monotony as well.
And in this town is a hidden treasure. A rare culinary jewel. Unimaginable in my wildest dreams.
Within minutes these empty tables filled with churchgoers, greeting one another, laughing, smiling, focusing on their food. Colonial Inn is a rarity. Not so rare are moments I have with my mom and grandmother.....but this step back into the past, this precious Sunday brunch today, I will remember forever.
Oh how sweet!! Grandmothers sure are special!!
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