Every summer my father, his siblings, and my cousins would bring us kids to the mountains where they grew up. I always looked forward to this event every summer. The terrain was rugged then and it was a hoot hear my aunts call out to Jesus whenever the jeepney we rented would tilt.
We always stayed at my lola’s sibling’s place. There was always a feast. And liters of coconut juice. And storytelling which was always the best part.
The last time I went to the mountains was a decade ago as a teenager. I remember it was raining then and so it was yesterday when we went.
I have posted below some pics that I took.
He was around seven years old and completely drenched.
The trees in the center right was where my lola’s house used to stand. This was where papa grew up, his siblings, and most of my cousins. They tore down the house, in the early 80s (they had since tried their luck in the city), for fear that NPAs would make it their headquarters.
That’s my niece having a leisurely walk in the mountains.
This tree is around 40 years old. My father says my aunt planted this tree. He remembers this because my aunt got a good spanking from lola when she lost the trowel.
I’ll upload other pictures that I took in the next few weeks (not days!).
Happy weekend everyone!