Holiday in Cotton Town
Outside of Nashville are suburbs; beyond those is Cotton Town. This is a proto-suburb, forming from the replacement of farmland with track homes. Currently, it’s the best of both worlds: wide open spaces, livestock, clean air, neighbors, and stores not to far away. Unfortunately, those stores are the same you’d find anywhere else. And to see another beautiful field paved over for a Best Buy is a little sad. Most of the time was spent at J.’s family’s house. Her two young cousins demanded near constant attention and stimulation. The toddler was adorable, but also prone to digging through and scattering anything within two feet from the floor.
It was a relaxing time, full of play, meat, and head colds. Games played: pool, spades, Catan, Pictionary, Taboo, washer toss, RC airplanes. Instruments played: guitar, piano, toy piano. Food eaten: beef, bacon, eggs, french toast, rolls, pancakes, chicken sandwiches, cereal, cornbread, cole slaw, BBQ, fudge, ice cream, steam cake, soda, water, coffee, minimal salad and vegetables.
A few photos:
The horizon seen near a trailhead and cemetery in the neighboring town of White House.
A. in the go-kart.
The ruins of Johnny Cash’s house by the lake. It burned down in a ring of fire.
Donkeys seen from the 4 mile greenbelt hike J. and I took.
A shot of numerous fossils exposed in a stone riverbed.
Lake near J.’s childhood neighborhood.
The toddler’s breakfast. Snap is up to something though, and I don’t like it one bit.
The roast with the most.
This game called washer toss was built by a relative. It is a cross between a carnival game and horseshoes. The player tries to score by throwing large washers into holes of different point values. The first to twenty wins. Note: I sucked at this game.
A few of J.’s relatives playing with an electric airplane.
My little RC airplane. Small, but fast. It took a few bad crashes in the beginning, bending the prop. It also had the tendency to land on roofs. Two flights were epic however. One got hundreds of feet into the air for minutes before getting out of range and crashing within a foot of the road. Another flight caught a strong tail wind and ended up down the block and across a field, crashing next to a herd of cows. They looked at me with confusion as I climbed the fence to retrieve the wreck. Watch out Portland skies, the Baron is in town.
J.’s father and uncle watching over the air show.
We were in the air for New Year’s because of a delay at the Dallas airport. There was no Champagne. I am sick of planes. There are no resolutions. I am happy.