Another Day in Paradise

On the Thanksgiving weekend, we managed to align umpteen schedules and almost everyone was able to go to Mom and Dad's for our Thanksgiving dinner.

I was going to collage all these pictures, but Paradise (aka, the farm) can't be contained to a collage.  Bear with me while I have a moment...

This moment of perfection brought to you by God

Cue angels singing 

The Cattle are Lowing

Cue the music!

And by music I mean the sweet sound of a chainsaw getting the job done.

Dispensing with tradition, we had Thanksgiving around the campfire.  It was fantastic and memorable - hot dogs and smores, when cooked on the hottest bonfire in the history of, well, my life, just gave me one more thing to be thankful for.

Loni and Mom - notice the hands on the hips...Pretty sure I'm on my way to that stance in the picture too.  I love that.

The older I get the more I discover that it is not in the perfect moments that memories are made, it's in the less than perfect ones that memories stick with you and make you smile.  Thanksgiving on the farm delivered loads of almost-perfect moments.

Grampa and Tyson talking about Math, if I remember right.

You say fallen log by a tree, they say ninja fortress

Who needs toys?

Hotdogs being barbecued by kids ranging from 5 - 12, who because of the intense heat can't get close enough to the fire, so they settle for half cold/half-burnt variations, is a good memory for starters. To be fair to the kids, I don't think that adults fared much better in their barbecuing endeavors.  Adults just know how to sell it better.  "Oh yeah, this burnt crispy layer on the one side of the dog is just how I like it. And when it's still got a touch of cold in the centre, while blistering hot on the outer layer.  Totally perf." 

All trying different roasting techniques.  I'm covering my face -from the intense heat, all the while telling my kids to be brave and just go for it.  Such a double standard Mom.

One set of sticky fingers...

There are memories of little kids and big kids climbing on the tractor with sticky hands from marshmallows and from juice poured in tippy plastic cups on the back of the "hay wagon".  I know Dad is going to appreciate that memory every time he climbs into the tractor over the next few weeks.

Sticky fingers and faces from marshmallows oozing out the sides of smores with almost-perfectly roasted marshmallows and chunks of jerseymilk chocolate bars that never melt no matter what trick you try began the sugar rush memory of the day.

In my mind, the most memorable part of the bonfire was the not-so-little reminders left here, there, and everywhere all over the fields, telling us that we aren't the only ones on the farm.  The spins around the field in the dune buggy drove that point home in a big way.

One thing my sisters and I were most thankful for was Mom's stash of clean pj's, and her washing machine when all the fun was done.

Maybe that is the Thanksgiving lesson to take away from Paradise - if we had let the threat of cow poop keep us from going out into the field to try something new, we would have missed out on all those great moments, that's we're still talking about today. The crap in your life makes things messy,  but way more memorable.

Here's to being more thankful in all things, and many more Thanksgiving bonfires.