Over the Thanksgiving holiday, my family and I travelled to a teeny, tiny town outside of Murfreesboro, Tennessee where my mother’s family lives. Both my grandparents grew up here and their history is so fascinating to me. My grandaddy took me to his childhood home.
His father built this house back in the early 1930s.
My great grandfather was a carpenter and taught my grandaddy his trade. Grandaddy became a well educated man and spent some time in the military but he was always building things for his home or family. Beautiful pieces of furniture fill my home as well as everyone else in the family.
Grandaddy has alzheimers and forgets so many things now but can recall in detail the years he was growing up.
He was with me when I came here to take these pictures and he answered every question I had about those years during the depression.
He said that poor folks like him and his family didn’t feel the effects of the depression as much as others cause they already didn’t have much money to begin with and already relied on the land to provide for them.
I could have spent hours out here. I was transported back to the 1920s and felt so at peace imaging the simple life they led.
Grandaddy had a laugh at me when I got back in the car and wondered aloud why anyone would want to take pictures of such an old rundown house. I told him that if this was a new home, I wouldn’t be interested in it anyway. Being transported (if only for a short time) back to a quiet time in history is what I love.