27 July 2018

eighty years.

it was a full house and chilled rosé and twenty-something moyers come from all corners back to the place where we began. guava pastries, still warm, and my dad at the grill. christopher's guacamole and bo's mango jalapeño salsa over fish caught by our own. cheeks were ruddy and hair was gold. no makeup, no tv, nowhere else to be. cuban coffees and cuban sandwiches and granny's tales from havana, 1957. sunscreen and sand and pudding cup thighs. baby boy's first taste of a georgia peach. a drive by the house where my dad was a little boy, and by the ones where my great-grandparents lived. francis and paloma, sweet cousins, such a pair. myself, awash in memories: grapefruit with spoonfuls of sugar and a knotted tree with a dip in the top, best for watching airplanes. family lore, recounted: a scottish boat captain turned south florida rum runner. we pulled for france and recalled one world cup ago (he was in brazil — we were just about to meet — so much, a lifetime, can happen in four years). we celebrated eighty years and, in her words, four generations [she] had a little something to do with. (in our words: four generations she had everything to do with.)


  1. I can only hope to be as blessed as your Granny 50 years from now. all my people from all corners surrounding me <3 yes please, oh, sweet heavens, yes please.

  2. I have only spent a small amount of time with the Moyer’s but that’s all it took to fall in love with them. They are such a warm, fun, loving bunch. These pictures make me happy!