Tag: Southern Life

Soulful Roads & Southern Classic: A Two-Week Deep South Road Trip

April 10, 2025

Travel Advice

Today I’m dishing up something that’s near and dear to my heart—a Deep South road trip that will leave your heart full, your belly happy, and your camera roll bursting with beauty.

We’re talking magnolia trees, soul food, Civil Rights history, antebellum architecture, sweet tea with a whiskey kick, and that warm, slow drawl that makes you feel like home—even if you ain’t from around here.

This two-week itinerary weaves through Charleston, Savannah, Atlanta, Birmingham, Montgomery, Selma, Mobile, Biloxi, Baton Rouge, and New Orleans. Whether you’re a history buff, foodie, music lover, or just need a good dose of sunshine and soul, the Deep South delivers.

Why Take a Deep South Road Trip?

Because the South is a story, honey—and every town along the way is a new chapter. It’s where blues and jazz were born, where the Civil Rights Movement took shape, and where hospitality isn’t a slogan—it’s a way of life. You’ll eat like royalty, meet the kindest folks, and feel connected to something bigger than yourself.

Best Time to Hit the Road

You’ll want to aim for spring (March–May) or early fall (September–November)—mild temps, fewer crowds, and all the azaleas and oaks your heart can handle. Summer is steamy and hurricane season rolls in late summer, so unless you love sweating through your linen, plan accordingly.

The Itinerary: A 2-Week Southern Soul Journey

Day 1-2: Charleston, SC

• Stay: Charming B&B in the Historic District or a luxury inn near the Battery.

• Eat: Shrimp & grits at Poogan’s Porch, biscuits at Callie’s Hot Little Biscuit.

• Do: Historic home tours, a carriage ride, Rainbow Row, and stroll the Charleston City Market.

Day 3-4: Savannah, GA

• Stay: The Gastonian or Perry Lane Hotel.

• Eat: Fried green tomatoes at The Olde Pink House, pralines along River Street.

• Do: Forsyth Park, ghost tour, Bonaventure Cemetery, and get lost in the Spanish moss.

Day 5: Atlanta, GA

• Stay: Midtown boutique hotel or The Candler.

• Eat: Hot chicken at Busy Bee Cafe, cocktails at The Garden Room.

• Do: MLK Jr. National Historical Park, National Center for Civil and Human Rights, Ponce City Market.

Day 6: Birmingham, AL

• Stay: The Elyton Hotel (hello rooftop views).

• Eat: BBQ at Saw’s Soul Kitchen, banana pudding from Niki’s West.

• Do: Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, 16th Street Baptist Church.

Day 7: Montgomery, AL

• Stay: Stay downtown near the Riverfront.

• Eat: Fried catfish at Cahawba House, peach cobbler for dessert.

• Do: Legacy Museum, National Memorial for Peace and Justice, Rosa Parks Museum.

Day 8: Selma, AL

• Day Trip Stop

• Do: Edmund Pettus Bridge, Voting Rights Museum, walk the same steps as heroes did.

• Tip: Stop here en route to Mobile. Reflect and soak it in—it’s powerful.

Day 9: Mobile, AL

• Stay: The Battle House Renaissance.

• Eat: Gumbo at Wintzell’s Oyster House, beignets at Mo’Bay.

• Do: Explore the USS Alabama, stroll Dauphin Street, visit the Carnival Museum.

Day 10: Biloxi, MS

• Stay: Beachfront resort or boutique casino hotel.

• Eat: Crawfish étouffée, po’ boys, and fresh Gulf oysters.

• Do: Beach time, lighthouse tour, a little blackjack if you’re feeling lucky.

Day 11-12: Baton Rouge, LA

• Stay: A riverfront hotel or historic plantation B&B nearby.

• Eat: Boudin balls and red beans & rice—don’t ask questions, just eat.

• Do: LSU Rural Life Museum, Old State Capitol, stroll the Mississippi River.

Day 13-14: New Orleans, LA

• Stay: French Quarter if you want the vibe, Garden District if you want peace.

• Eat: Everything. Café du Monde beignets, jambalaya, muffulettas, chargrilled oysters.

• Do: Live jazz on Frenchmen Street, steamboat ride, a voodoo tour, people-watch on Bourbon Street.

What to Eat Across the South

This is not the time to diet, friend. Expect:

• Buttery biscuits & gravy

• Fried everything

• Crawfish boils

• Sweet tea & bourbon cocktails

• Pimento cheese, hush puppies, cornbread, and collard greens

• Oh, and pie. So. Much. Pie.

Where to Stay

I’m a travel advisor for a reason—because no two travelers are the same. Want boutique charm? I got you. Prefer modern luxury with a rooftop bar? Done. Road trippin’ on a budget? Let’s get creative.

Let Me Plan It For You

You can absolutely DIY this trip, but if you want all the beauty with none of the stress, holler at me. I’ll handle the route, the hotels, the dining recs, and even those little off-the-beaten-path spots that make it feel like you discovered something.

XOXO, Jani

Y’all ready to feel the soul of the South? Let’s hit the road.

Take Time To Travel with me—Jani—and let’s turn this road trip into a journey you’ll never forget.

The Take Time To Travel Team – Cindy, Jani, Tammy, Trisha, Krystal

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DANCING!

April 9, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

What’s the most fun way to exercise?

Y’all. Let me go ahead and be real honest right out the gate: I have ZERO desire to exercise. Like, absolutely none. Been there. Done that. Got the oversized, ill-fitting t-shirt from some gym promo and a dusty yoga mat in the back of my closet to prove it.

Run? RUN? Am I being chased?? By Michael Myers? Jason Voorhees? Cujo?!

No?

Then no. I’m walking. Slowly. Like the slow southern drawl in a lazy front porch conversation. I walk with a slow southern drawl, and I do it with no shame. LOL.

But here’s the thing. You know what I will do?

I’ll dance.

I’ll dance like a complete fool in the rain.

I’ll dance alone in my kitchen with my coffee.

I’ll dance with my grandbabies until we’re all giggling on the floor.

I’ll dance with Bean—yes, the cat. (He pretends not to enjoy it, but I know better.)

I’ll dance with friends, with strangers, with my reflection in the microwave door.

If dancing counts as exercise, well shoot—I’m basically an Olympic athlete.

So what’s the most fun way to exercise?

The way that makes you forget you’re doing it.

For me, it’s dancing like nobody’s watching—even though half the time someone definitely is.

If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.

Music up. Feet moving. Heart happy.

Want to add a playlist to go with it? I’ve got ideas!

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Good Morning From The Porch

April 9, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Euharlee Creek is rising, the coffee is brewing, and the bassets are already running the show.

I’ve never been a fan of rushing into the day. I believe in easing into it—slowly, intentionally, with a hot coffee in hand and a seat on the porch where the view is part wilderness, part comedy show.

Life here at our old creekside cabin unfolds at its own pace, and our pets are the stars of the morning routine.

Let me introduce you to the crew.

Cash, our gentle giant of a Basset Hound, is likely still in bed as I write this. He could eat the other two in one bite if he wanted to—but he doesn’t. He’s too laid-back to lead, too chill to challenge, and way too content to move unless absolutely necessary.

Shelby, on the other hand, makes her grand descent each morning like the diva she is. Her throne? A $700 ottoman I insisted on when we bought new living room furniture. It sits by the fireplace and was meant for guests—or, you know, humans. But now it has a Shelby-shaped “well” in the cushion, and she has claimed it as her own. She guards it like a dragon with its hoard, daring poor Cash to even try to get cozy beside her.

Bean, our cat and self-proclaimed explorer, is already out on his morning mission via the pet door. He came to us back when I worked in vet-med—tiny, unwanted, and just what I didn’t know I needed. I used to hang bird feeders on the porch, thinking I was helping the wildlife. Turns out, I was just setting the table for Bean. He treated them like a drive-thru. So, down the feeders came.

Out here, we live nestled in the woods along the beautiful, wide, and deep Euharlee Creek. It may rise from time to time, but it’ll never reach the house, thanks to our three-level yard. The other side is a massive sod farm, and nature usually minds her manners. Usually.

But you’d think I personally conjured the storms based on how my pets act when the creek swells and covers their sacred trail. Yes—there’s a trail. They made it themselves, winding through grass and moss, all the way down to the water. When it floods, they act as if their whole world has been upended… and that somehow, it’s my fault.

So I sit here most mornings in my favorite rocker on the porch, sipping coffee while the wind dances through the chimes and my windsock flutters in the breeze. The dogs patrol the yard (once it’s dry), Bean comes and goes like a shadow, and the creek does what the creek does.

It’s not always quiet. It’s rarely perfect. But it’s home.

And on mornings like this, with coffee in hand and critters at my feet, I’m reminded that slow, sweet mornings aren’t wasted time—they’re the good stuff.

Thanks for joining me this morning.

If you’ve got a favorite porch memory, a spoiled pet story, or your own backyard soap opera, I’d love to hear it. Drop a comment or come chat with me on socials—especially if your pets also think you control the weather.

XOXO, Jani

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Taco Tuesday: Tradition, Tacos, Tequila

April 8, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love

There are a few things in life that are just good for the soul. A warm hug, a perfectly timed playlist, and—for me—Taco Tuesday with my girls.

Almost every Tuesday (okay, at least three times a month if the stars align), I gather with my ride-or-die taco tribe: Brenda and Mary. Sometimes it’s just the three of us, sometimes others drop in, but it doesn’t matter if we’re a trio or a table-full—the vibe is always just right. There’s something special about the ritual: a margarita (or two… who’s counting?), a table full of tacos, and some solid girlfriend comradery.

We’ve made it our mission to taste-test tacos across Cartersville and beyond. El Charro, El Charitto, Los Arcos, El Dorado, Tarascos, Los Palmas, Santana, La Patrona… and I know I’m forgetting a couple. Each spot has its own flavor, its own flair, and believe me—we’re equal opportunity taco lovers.

Tonight’s pick? El Dorado. Their skinny margaritas have a way of making the stress of the day melt faster than you can say “Boom Boom tacos,” and yes, those tacos made me smile all the way through my margarita!

Now, I’ll admit something here: I’ve got a soft spot for El Charro. Maybe it’s the cheese dip, maybe it’s nostalgia, maybe it’s just the way the chips hit the table right when you need ‘em most—but isn’t that the way with your favorite spot? Sometimes it’s not even about the food (though let’s be real, the tacos are solid). It’s about the memories made there. The laughter that’s echoed off the walls. The stories shared over guac and salt-rimmed glasses.

Taco Tuesday isn’t just a meal—it’s a moment. A little slice of joy in the middle of the week. A chance to catch up, let go, and be reminded that life is delicious, especially when shared with good people and great tacos.

So if you’re ever wondering where I am on a Tuesday night… just follow the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. We’ll save you a seat.

XOXO, Jani

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Being A Woman Is Wild—A Day In The Life Of Me

April 8, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Y’all. Being a woman is wild.

Like, truly bonkers. If I were to summarize today in one sentence, it would be this little meme I saw yesterday.

“I just cried, cleaned the entire house, shaved my legs, and now I’m fine.#

Seriously. That is the plot of my life. That’s the entire emotional rollercoaster. And if you’re a woman reading this, you’re probably nodding like, “Yeah, seems legit.”

Let’s break it down:

Step 1: Cry.

No warning. No big trigger. Just suddenly, I’m sobbing because I remembered that one time in 1994 when someone said I looked tired. Also maybe because the dog looked at me with judgment in his eyes when I ate a cookie before 10 a.m. Again.

Hormones? Stress? The absolute audacity of a Monday? WHO KNOWS. The tears just showed up like uninvited guests who brought wine and feelings.

Step 2: Clean like a madwoman.

Is there a better coping mechanism than rage vacuuming? I think not. I was swiffering with purpose, y’all. I don’t know if it was the tears or the cookie shame or just the fact that I needed to do something productive to feel human again, but that house got cleaned top to bottom.

It’s called emotional productivity. Look it up. Or don’t. I made it up just now.

Step 3: Shave legs.

Did I have plans to go somewhere fancy? Nope. Did anyone request the silky-smooth stems? Also nope. But suddenly I decided that I could not live another moment with legs that felt like a cactus in a windstorm.

Shaving is a spiritual reset. And also a bloodsport if you do it standing up in the shower with no lighting and questionable balance. I lived. Barely.

Step 4: I’m fine.

That’s it. I’m fine now.

We don’t question it. We just go with it. I’m smiling again. Possibly singing along to Fleetwood Mac while folding towels like a boss. No one knows what just happened, least of all me. But we made it, friends. We made it.

Being a woman is wild.

Pass the wine and the moisturizer.

XOXO, Jani

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Maybe I’m Not an Introvert… I Just Like My Peace

April 5, 2025

Eat, Pray, Love, The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

California Dreaming…

For the last couple of years, I truly thought I had crossed over to the dark side. That I had suddenly become an introvert. I mean, I found myself turning down plans. Preferring a cozy night in with my dogs and a good book over going out. Actually enjoying the silence. Who even was I?

But then it hit me, clear as day:

I’m not an introvert. I just love being at peace.

And I’m still wildly extroverted around the people who bring me that peace.

Give me a room full of folks who feel like sunshine on a hard day, and suddenly I’m the same loud, laughing, storytelling, joke-cracking, dance-floor-dominating me. But stick me in a crowd full of chaos, small talk, or fake energy? I’ll be clinging to the nearest exit faster than you can say “nope.”

See, I used to think solitude meant something was wrong with me. That needing alone time meant I had changed. But peace? Peace isn’t loneliness. It’s a soul exhale. It’s choosing quality over quantity. It’s recognizing who and what drains you—and who and what fills your cup until it’s overflowing.

I’ve learned to stop labeling myself. I’m not introvert or extrovert. I’m just someone who has finally learned how sacred peace is—and how damn good it feels to protect it.

So if you see me out, and I’m quiet, don’t assume I’ve changed.

And if you see me lighting up like a firework around certain people, know this:

Those are my people.

That is my peace.

And I’m still very much me.

XOXO, Jani

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Sneaky Snake and Crocodile Rock

April 3, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Me

My daddy had custody of me from the time I was around four. This was the early ’70s, so that alone raised some eyebrows. But whenever I did go visit my mother, it was… well, an experience.

She had moved to Atlanta to sing in nightclubs—and she was good. I mean really good. At one point, RCA Records even approached her with a contract. Why she didn’t sign it? That’s one of those long-winded family mysteries. I’ve heard her version, I’ve heard his version, and somewhere in the foggy middle lies the truth—probably twisted up with a little pride, a little pain, and a whole lot of what if.

During those visits, I was usually left with a nighttime babysitter while she hit the clubs. But one morning—one very specific morning—she came to pick me up still dressed in full-on nightclub mode. She was wearing all black: tight pants, a sheer chiffon blouse that left very little to the imagination, and her signature shag haircut. Say what you will, but she was an absolutely stunning woman. Beautiful, bold, and a little bit dangerous.

We walked outside to a white El Camino—not hers, of course. Those things were like a two-seater coupe mixed with a station wagon and a lowrider truck. Basically, the mullet of automobiles. She opened the passenger side door so I could perch on the little console between the seats.

That’s when I saw him.

In the driver’s seat was a man—decked out in a white, bedazzled jumpsuit. Think Elvis, but not the young, hip-shaking heartthrob. No, this was late-stage, sweat-drenched, post-divorce Elvis. The kind with sideburns, a paunch, and enough rhinestones to blind a preacher.

My mom, cool as ever, gestured toward him and said,

“Sweetie, this is Uncle……..”

Because every man in her life was magically transformed into “Uncle” something when I was around.

But before she could finish, he leaned over with a big grin and said,

🚩“But you can call me… Sneaky Snake.” 🚩

Yes.

That happened.

He said that. Out loud. To a child.

And just to make sure the moment was fully seared into my brain, Crocodile Rock was blaring on the FM radio like the universe itself was cackling at the scene.

So there I sat, sandwiched between a hungover nightclub singer in sheer chiffon and a sweaty rhinestone-stuffed stranger who introduced himself as Sneaky Snake, with Elton John howling about happy times and rockin’ feet.

And that, my friends, is just one of many reasons I have a dark sense of humor, trust issues, and a love for storytelling that’s equal parts therapy and entertainment.

Oh, the joys of my childhood. Bless it.

About the Author– I am a southern-born, Yankee-educated, sassy storyteller with a suitcase full of memories and a heart full of grit. When I’m not planning luxury getaways with Take Time To Travel, I’m spinning tales from a childhood that was equal parts chaos and charm. Stick around—this is just one gem from a treasure chest of stories you won’t believe (but absolutely happened).

XOXO, Jani

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My Musical Menagerie: A Symphony of Controlled Chaos

March 30, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

Me, Ryan and Angie…Rockin’ w/ Babes Bayou

If you’ve ever taken a ride with me—or even passed me on the highway—you’ve probably witnessed what I like to call “Jani’s Rolling Music Festival.” One minute I’m belting out “Purple Rain” with all the drama of a Vegas headliner (in my mind), and the next I’ve gone full disco with the Bee Gees falsettoing their way through my soul. My playlists are a hot mess of genres, moods, and memories—and honestly, so am I. It’s kind of perfect.

I like to call it my musical menagerie. From rock anthems to yacht rock, from disco grooves to old-school rap, from bluesy ballads to 90s grunge, I’ve curated a collection that makes absolutely no sense to anyone but me. And that’s what makes it magical.

Atlanta in the 70s!

A Nod To My Mother

Now, let me say this: my relationship with my mother was… complicated, to put it gently. But one thing I’ll never take from her is the gift she gave me—my deep love for rhythm and music. That woman had a voice that could rattle a roof. Think Janis Joplin meets Pat Benatar. She didn’t just sing—she performed. And even though I didn’t inherit her pipes (I’m more Kermit the Frog than Kelly Clarkson), I did inherit her feel for music.

I may not hit the high notes, but honey, I feel them.

Carpool Karaoke: Unhinged Edition

There’s something truly therapeutic about being alone in your car, volume up, windows down (or heat blasting, depending on the season), singing like you’re headlining a world tour. For those 3-5 minutes, I’m not a Travel Advisor or a grandma or a woman with a thousand tabs open in her brain—I’m a damn rockstar.

The glow of the dashboard lights and oncoming traffic becomes my concert lighting. The heated seats? Stage pyrotechnics, obviously. The steering wheel? My mic stand. I go full diva, and let me tell you—I give myself a standing ovation every time.

The Method Behind the Madness

People ask me all the time, “How do you go from Earth, Wind & Fire to Eminem in one playlist?” And I say, “Because life isn’t one genre.” My musical tastes reflect every version of me: the Southern girl with a rebellious streak, the awkward teen who found comfort in The Cure, the young mom blasting 90s hip hop in the school drop-off line, the now-sassy glam-ma vibing to Lizzo while sipping coffee in traffic.

Each playlist I build is a mood board. Some are for travel days (think mellow, beachy vibes), others are for rage cleaning (cue the angry girl anthems), and some are just…random. Like, Stevie Nicks, followed by Tupac, followed by ABBA, followed by Queen. Chaos? Maybe. But it works for me.

Music: My Constant Companion

In a life that’s been far from tidy, music has always been the thread that tied it all together. I’ve danced to it, cried to it, driven cross-country to it. I’ve found comfort in lyrics that put my feelings into words and energy in bass lines that made me move even when I didn’t feel like it.

And as much as I joke about being a mess, I’m a beautiful one. So my playlists? They’re just the soundtrack to my wonderfully messy, rhythm-filled, slightly off-key life.

Want to ride shotgun with me?

Drop a comment with your favorite genre-hopping, mood-swinging songs. Maybe I’ll add them to my next playlist—just don’t be surprised when they’re nestled between Fleetwood Mac and Missy Elliott.

Because around here, the only rule is: if it moves me, it makes the cut.

Stay tuned for more of my fave playlists on Spotify!

XOXO, Jani

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Girls Just Wanna Have Fun: Let Me Plan Your Perfect 3-Day Weekend in Nashville

March 30, 2025

Travel Advice

By Jani Aylsworth-Gunter, Take Time To Travel

Need a break from the chaos of life? Grab your besties, toss a pair of boots in a weekender bag, and let me plan the ultimate girls’ trip to Nashville! Music City is bursting with energy, charm, and the kind of memories you’ll be laughing about for years.

Whether it’s a birthday bash, a bachelorette party, or just a much-needed escape, here’s what your fabulous 3-day getaway could look like—with every detail handled for you by yours truly.

Day 1: Welcome to Nashville, Y’all

You’ll arrive in Nashville and check into a perfectly-located downtown hotel that’s stylish, walkable, and ready to serve some serious Southern hospitality.

From there, it’s all about the honky tonk. I’ll map out the best rooftop bars and iconic Broadway spots—think Tootsie’s, The Stage, and all the spots where you can dance like nobody’s watching. (But don’t worry, I’ll also include my favorite places where the locals go… just in case you want a break from the bachelorette sashes and cowboy hats.)

Day 2: Brunch, Boutique Shopping, and a Boozy Ride

Start your morning with a chic brunch at a place where the mimosas are bottomless and the vibe is unbeatable. Then it’s off to 12South or The Gulch for some boutique shopping and Instagrammable mural stops.

In the afternoon, I’ll book a pedal tavern or party bus for your crew—because nothing says “girls trip” like sipping drinks while singing your heart out and touring the city. (And yes, I’ll make sure there are options with shade and comfy seats!)

Dinner that night? I’ll get you a table at a trendy spot like Adele’s or a rooftop with views, craft cocktails, and Southern flavor done right.

Day 3: Self-Care Sunday, Nashville Style

Let’s slow it down with a leisurely breakfast—maybe Biscuit Love or Milk & Honey—followed by a little light sightseeing. Want to stroll through Centennial Park and see Nashville’s very own Parthenon? Or maybe a spa treatment to recover from all that boot-scootin’? Done and done.

By the time you head home, you’ll feel recharged, reconnected, and already talking about the next trip.

All You Have to Do? Show Up.

I’ll take care of the hotels, dining reservations, activities, transportation, and every last detail so you and your girlfriends can just show up and have fun. That’s what Take Time To Travel is all about—turning trip dreams into reality, without the planning stress.

So if Nashville is calling, grab your crew and let’s start planning. Life’s too short not to have a little honky tonk in your soul.

Ready to boot-scoot your way into a fabulous weekend? Let’s chat—this girls’ trip is waiting on you.

– Jani, your go-to gal at Take Time To Travel, 770-334-2256

The Take Time To Travel Team – Cindy, Jani, Tammy, Trisha, Krystal

Life is one big journey—and I’m sharing mine, one mile and one moment at a time. Subscribe to follow along.

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The Devil’s Dust: A Southern Love-Hate Letter to Pollen Season

March 29, 2025

The Sitcom Called “Mary Jane”

By Jani Aylsworth-Gunter, Take Time To Travel

Well y’all… it’s that time of year again. You know, when the birds are chirping, the azaleas are blooming, and everything—and I do mean everything—is covered in a fine, yellowish-green hell dust. Yes ma’am, it’s POLLEN SEASON in the South. Otherwise known as “The Devil’s Dust” to those of us just trying to breathe and make it to brunch without sneezing our faces off.

I swear, if Satan himself had a signature seasoning blend, it would be this powdery mess that coats every porch, windshield, dog, child, and unsuspecting Yankee who dared to vacation down here in March. Welcome to the South, sugar. Hope you packed a Zyrtec.

It’s Not Dust, It’s a Lifestyle

Southern pollen doesn’t gently arrive like a whisper on the wind. No ma’am. It kicks the door down like a drunk ex at a family reunion and makes itself right at home. You’ll be out there washing your car, thinking you’re doing something productive, and within 12 minutes it’s re-coated like a Krispy Kreme donut. You basically just gave it a pre-pollen rinse.

Don’t even get me started on porch furniture. You wipe it down, you sit for two minutes with your coffee, and suddenly your cute little white capris look like you rolled around in radioactive cornmeal. It’s like the South’s way of saying: “Bless your heart for trying.”

Allergies? We Don’t Know Her. We Just Suffer Silently

And the sinus situation? Lawd. People walking around with voices like they’ve been chain-smoking Marlboros under a ceiling fan all night. The amount of tissues, allergy meds, and eye drops being consumed could fund a small country. I saw a woman sneeze six times in a row at Publix the other day and half the store turned to look, not out of concern—just in mutual, congested solidarity.

Spring Travel? Proceed with Caution …and a Mask, and Eye Drops, and Maybe a Power Washer

This is also that time of year when I lovingly tell my Northern travel clients: if you’re heading into the South for spring, prepare accordingly. And if you’re trying to escape the pollen apocalypse, I have just the place for you (call me). I’ll get you on a plane to anywhere that doesn’t require you to dust off your lungs before dinner.

But here’s the thing, y’all. As much as we complain—and Lord knows we do—it’s part of the charm of Southern living. The flowers are blooming, the days are longer, the sweet tea hits just right, and despite the powder coating of doom on everything we own, there’s something magical about it. Miserable? Yes. But magical.

So grab your antihistamines, give your patio furniture one more wipe, and lean into the chaos. Spring in the South is not for the faint of heart—but it sure is beautiful, once you squint past the pollen fog.

Sunshine and Sweet Tea

Need to escape the Devil’s Dust for a bit?

Let’s get you booked somewhere with clean air and fresh ocean breezes.

Take Time To Travel has your pollen-free paradise waiting…

– Jani, your go-to gal at Take Time To Travel, 770-334-2256

The Take Time To Travel Team – Cindy, Jani, Tammy, Trisha, Krystal

Life is one big journey—and I’m sharing mine, one mile and one moment at a time. Subscribe to follow along.

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