I experience the same grounded and almost spiritual feeling every time I set foot in my mother's hometown. Often missed in a blink of an eye while driving down the highway, Eastover brings back great memories of my cousins and I playing through the woods and on the rocky dirt roads. Things have changed and people barely have time to make it back but on Labor Day I was able to see a few of my relatives. My uncles still loved beer, my aunt still grew pears and muscadines, and my nephews still tried their best to get me to tackle them. While indulging in freshly fried fish and bread, hot sauce and mustard I easily forgot about the outside world. It was just so refreshing to be around family in such a familiar place with great sentimental value.