"The Alaskans are coming to town!"

This is the song Trent sang all day on the Friday before Thanksgiving. Five of my family members (mom, Scott, Megan, Brittany, and Noah) arrived on a plane that afternoon and after picking up the girls from school we all set off for Mississippi in a mammoth RV (all except Josh, cuz somebody has to work around here so we can have nice things). My grandpa had no idea what kind of craziness was headed his way.

Grandpa Jack lives in a small town on the border of Mississippi and Alabama. He is in his late 70s and runs a 50 acre farm like it is no big deal. There was a lot of back-porch-sittin' and cow-watchin' during our two days on the farm.

When the cows were ready to be fed, Grandpa got in his tractor, put my 30-week pregnant sister at the helm of his Gator, and told us to follow him. We drove all around his property and didn't get mauled by the cows (a large fear of Evie's, who stayed behind for "safety reasons").

(Evie, safe on the back porch and separated from the cows by an electrified fence. Although, in all fairness, once she saw how passive the cows were she joined us on the next ride out on the farm.)

It was nice to spend time with Grandpa, whom I hadn't seen in fifteen years. He was really sweet and jolly the whole visit and kept telling us how much it meant for us to drive twelve hours to see him. 

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