"We are like kites in the hills of Carolina, like ships riding at anchor- we have our red hills and our cotton fields, our big wooden white houses. Someone is always keeping the home place, someone always is there, and no matter how seldom or unexpectedly we may come in, we know someone will rise to give us our welcome. We can stay for a day, for a week, for a month. We can sit in a corner if we like and read a book, or we can milk the cows or feed the chickens, or shoot squirrels in the oaks alond the spring branch. It is a great comfort to a rambling people to know that somewhere there is a permanent home- perhaps it is the most final of the comforts they ever really know. Perhaps that is why one of our favorite hymns is that spiritual: " I got a home in that rock, don't you see?"

- Red Hills and Cotton