Yesterday afternoon I headed to Belmont, North Carolina. It’s an adorable small town, just twenty minutes north of Charlotte. I was joining Lindsay to explore the outskirts of the city in hopes of finding some funky, cool spots to take some photos for a project. Lindsay is an awesome photographer here in town and we’re collaborating on some photo shoots, which is so much fun. We didn’t manage to find a whole lot of interesting in the outskirts of Belmont, really, and our attempts at getting lost didn’t seem work. It seems as though when you actually want to get lost, it’s nearly impossible. Did you know that? Isn’t that just like life? Anyway, more on our time in Belmont soon.
I just had to talk about that gorgeous, abandoned home up there that I couldn’t stop taking photos of. The house that made all of the driving and NOT getting lost completely worth it. Here’s the deal with me and old buildings, homes, abandoned chimneys in the mountains and places like that, I get so lost in imagining who must have lived in those homes and what their lives must have been like. For example, with this house, I like to imagine they were farmers and harvested everything in the large, open field behind their statuesque abode, when the asphalt road ten feet from their front door was nothing but dirt. They would wake up in that very house, before the sun even rose, to get to work and harvest their crops. Perhaps they held their children’s weddings there. You know, I imagine stuff like that. I just get absolutely lost in it and all of the history. I think it’s one reason why I love the Biltmore so much. It’s also another reason why I wanted to move north of Florida, to live among these antique structures with a story of their very own. How I wish walls could talk.