Southern Gothic: a manifestation from my first memories

I've been noticing something i never noticed when growing up here: how the death of fall is subtle but real. Manifested in spaces of vast soybean and cotton fields, overnight naked trees, oaks holding on to their leaves, flying brown all winter. Those old paint peeling houses shining bright under dusty hot summers reflect a melancholy as the time the harvest finished. Daily soybean fields disappear. Tobacco was first, Cotton slowing going now too. 

These are snapshots from my grandpa's farm. The place of my very first black and white memory of my grandmother standing on a house porch very much like the one below (this one was actually a house for farm help) as my mom drove up to drop me off in her care for the day. I was lifted and brought in a very dark house, because it was summer and they didn't have central air conditioning. To this day, my grandpa still keeps the blinds closed in the summer to keep the harsh sunlight on white house down while the inside stays dark and cool. Inviting. Quiet and resting. 

Webs inside the Sweet Potato storage house. Papa said he had to light a fire in it in the winter when he was young. It was to keep the sweet potatoes, a crop they ate nearly everyday especially throughout the winter; from freezing. 

An animal victim of the farm. A living thing of once was: mule, cow, deer, skulls are often found about the farm..