My body's half-filled with farm blood. Dad grew up on one, our family of 5 traveled there for bi-weekly spoiling by Grandma and Grandpa when I was a boy.
Last week, we drove deep into the countryside to celebrate Easter on the family farm. It was a sunny day stocked with honey ham, a hayrack ride, green-creek boulder toss, Amish buggies, Barbie kites and an obese egg hunt.
Jump on the wagon and come along.
It began with skipping small stones off the stream.
The kids soon hunted for larger rocks, running a ways down the lane in search of something that would make a bigger splash.
The cousins worked together and nearly blew their seats grunting on the heavier boulders. Wish my daughter was this motivated when it comes time to clean her room.
Ready for launch, find a big farm dad to help.
Uncle B. chucks it, the kids squeal-clap their approval on splashdown. They kept bringing the boulders and making him hurl 'em, I can only imagine what Uncle B's back felt like the morning after.
A pair of Amish carriages clopped past. I waved, the Amish teen smiled and gave me a peace sign. Or was that a gang flash?
We held a kite-off. Men/dads can turn anything into competitive sport, even if it involves pink Barbie kites.
There was a "communication issue" on the egg hunt, too many families brought eggs not knowing others were doing the same. Kids ended up with an enormous cache, it was an inhumane amount of candy-stuffed plastic eggs.
I hope you had a blessed Easter!