Fireworks, a farm in Kansas, watermelon, apple pie, home-made ice cream: we had it all. Paola, Kansas was the site of the bash at a beautiful farm owned by Rachel's (Kevin's wife) aunt and uncle who invited us to celebrate with their family, friends, and neighbors. While the kids rode the range on quads, went to check on the cows riding in the open back of a pickup (the kids, not the cows, were riding in the back of the pickup), and shot off two hours worth of fireworks, I cringed in the house hoping that they would live through it, and they did. They did all the things I did when I was a kid, except when I was a kid, fireworks were legal, riding in the back of a pickup was legal, quads weren't invented and neither were crash helmets.
I promise you that the little boy in the picture is unharmed -- his pants were not on fire, it wasn't even near him. It just looks that way. Honest. Click on the photo to see a larger and slightly clearer image in which it looks even more like the little guy has been torched.
While we were away our untended garden did just fine. I have hope that it may yield more than the two raspberries that Ben ate the other day. They were perfect and delicious, he reported.
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