The signs people sport on the corners no longer have hand drawn pictures of scissors to confuse the tourists passing through. The wildly painted buses are disappearing. Foreign accents, while still found here and there, no longer nudge their way into hill parties in the same quantities. Trimigrant time is sliding into the quiet of fall after harvest. A local driver heading to the post office along a quiet, curving country road in unlikely now to sight a converted school bus painted bright blue or pink flanked by festive folk juggling hula hoops and waving signs proclaiming their trimming talent.

The cooler, darker days mark a traditional time for stories and we’d like to hear your memories of trimmer times or see your photos. The scissor drifter culture is ephemeral. It will likely trickle away slowly like trails of cannabis smoke on a quiet evening. We welcome your tales and your images—positive or negative—so this very unusual phenomenon will be recorded in the vast memory chain of the interwebs.

Note:The video above contains a slideshow of photos that I suspect might appear without the knowledge of the photographer. If you recognize yours, let me know and we’ll give you credit here. Several of mine appear and I don’t recollect giving permission but I got my payment with the pleasure of seeing this fleeting moment in time documented.

Also, thanks to the Camo Cowboys, the local musicians who perform the song, Scissor Drifters. More of their music can be found here. My favorite song is Family Felony.