I was there this weekend.
It’s where I spent the first 18 years of my life and then spent nearly another year there when I was 25. That hill you see there in front of my parent’s house is one of the greatest places on earth.
It was there that I gained perspective on life. It’s where I sat when one of my best friends drowned when I was just 12. It’s where I sat trying to figure out what went wrong when my first marriage ended suddenly. It’s where my children had their first Easter egg hunt. It’s where we used to slide down on cardboard boxes during the 1-2 inch “snowstorms” as a kid.
Springville, Alabama is a lot like Mayberry, North Carolina. Saying it’s a small town doesn’t say enough. There isn’t a red light in the city limits. There isn’t strip mall within 20 miles. There isn’t much to do there at all. So it’s perfect.
This weekend I educated my two youngest kids on the beauty of living in a small town. We walked a lot. Played outside a lot. They walked their cousin to school this morning with their Nona. We went to the little Baptist Church on the hill yesterday morning. The same church where I was baptized and spent the better part of my early teenage years.
We ate fried ham, green beans and sweet potato casserole, fish and hushpuppies and, for breakfast, homemade biscuits and pear preserves. We sat outside on swings and adirondack chairs and watched the world pass by slowly. We shot pool in the playroom and hit golfballs in the front yard. I spent some great quality time sharing secrets with my mom.
It was the kind of weekend you wish for.