Hill Country & Happy
A little editing practice on some photos I snapped last weekend in Driftwood (and at the creek in Wimberley for good measure, but it was too full and greened up not to).
I was staying with my grandparents, and the cloudy light was perfect after lunch on Sunday. I asked if they’d be up to drive by the old Texaco building and let me snap a few photos, and not only were they down, they kind of caught the bug — driving around to different places or pulling off because I should definitely get a photo of this or that. (The post office, for example, was entirely my grandad’s idea.)
I think my impulsive travel habits and the writing/photography that goes along with them have often felt a little like a rebellious streak to me — something that, if given the choice, my family might prefer I simmer down on a bit. This may or may not be true; and even if it is, depending on the situation, fair enough. But the moments that they encourage it or, better yet, get on board and participate? Those are my absolute happiest moments.
My parents drove to Colorado this summer, and on their way up, I called my mom to check in.
“Oh, we just passed through Amarillo,” she told me, then laughed. “It’s funny — we’re like, in the middle of nowhere in the panhandle, and your dad just said, ‘Ryley needs to come here. She would love this.’”
You can’t expect your quirks to be understood all the time. But when they are? That’s the best.
