My parents live on a cul-de-sac (and, thanks to the Gilmore Girls I know to say "There are several culs-de-sac in that neighborhood" as the plural). You can see the end of my car sticking out -- I never took a pic of my parents house. Not only did I just plain forget, I never asked them if they would mind if I posted it on the www. 'Cause, as you might imagine, the paparazzi for my childhood home ... out of control!
This is the cul-de-sac. I think there were only 2 other houses on this street when we moved in about 32 years ago. So I have wandered through most of these homes in their early construction phases. I have ridden bikes and go-carts millions of miles those last 100 feet of street, as well as learned to drive -- an automatic AND standard transmission vehicle. I've used the path between two of the houses -- pre-privacy fences -- to walk through to a friend's house on the street behind. I don't feel particularly sentimental about this street, but I sure have given it a lot of mileage. 
This is the church where my parents still worship. Yes, it's funny looking, and you don't even want to know what kind of quotes they recently got for re-roofing. Now, I think I do feel a little sentimental about this crazy building. This is the only church I knew as 'home' for 18 years. I was baptized in that baptistry, and my friend Christy's 'Uncle Bill' (who we all called Uncle Bill) kept it locked and heated and cooled for years. I attended the nursery and worked in the nursery there. I scared myself and tried to scare others at lock-ins there. I stood in the front of that church and exchanged rings, vows, and one big kiss with my man at that church. I have showed off my babies there, and they have been appropriately 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over. When I think about the church where I grew up, I don't think about this building, the roofline, or the horrible accoustics (yes, the inside of the auditorium does the same thing). I think about the faces of folks -- most of them no longer on this planet -- loving me through my childhood.
This is the Bayou Desiard Country Club. Yes, that is Bayou Desiard, and it is in front of the Country Club. Original, no? I confess that this is a part of where I'm from that I hesitate to share. Partly because I just heard Denver Moore speak, it's hard to think of how he grew up, not far from this spot, as opposed to how I grew up. But, Denver also said, in speaking of his own past experiences and tragedies, "It's what happened then that made me who I am now." And the country club life was very much part of my growing up years. I've been to at least 500 Sunday lunches there (amazing buffet), swam in the pool every summer, rode the cart while my then-fiance, now-husband, gave a round of golf a try (and decided that next time he'll bring his shotgun). I have celebrated some wonderful occasions in that building: my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, my Poppa Max's 90th birthday, and my personal favorite was my wedding reception held in there, almost 16 years ago now.
I have to also tell you a little about the bayou. I realized how remiss I had been in telling about my hometown when someone that I know fairly well asked me (after I was singing the obligatory 'Jambalaya' about having big fun on the bayou) if there was an actual bayou. Uh, yeah there is! I have skied and floated and boated in that bayou. The road where I took this picture was on my way to my school, and I loved to watch the fog crawl up the banks of the bayou on chilly fall mornings. Off to the right you can't see the road that crosses the bayou. When I was in high school a truck drove off of that road into the bayou. The daddy and little girl got out, but Momma couldn't swim. My dad, who witnessed the accident, went in and got her. (Yes, my dad, who said he didn't have a story to tell!!) My senior party was a skiing party on that bayou. Lots of memories for me around the bayou.
This is just a picture from the end of the street where I lived before we moved to the cul-de-sac. Where all those houses are used to be a HUGE cotton field. I always loved the symmetry of the rows when we drove by.
This is just a random Cypress tree, complete with moss hanging all over it. See that little bitty shed at the bottom? Yeah, that's a house... Dear friends in West Texas: this is a tree. Maybe now you will understand why I just can't get on board with the shrubs we have around here.