Redneck Reality: This is What We Do For Fun

Once upon a time there was a charming beautiful baby Girl who was born in the Big City. She had want for nothing. Her mother and father adored every pore and freckle of her wrinkly body. They showered her with clothes, a room all to herself, and lots of cute toys with lights and sounds. As the years went by the clothes arrived in larger sizes, the room was redecorated from nursery to Big Girl room and the gifts progressed from Fisher Price to American Girl to Books.

The little trio of a family ventured through life adding a few additional siblings along the way. Until one day the parents decided they should move to the Land of Their Youth. It was a far away Land where people had no inclination to shop at Ross, because, indeed, they had never heard the name Ross outside the context of "Friends". (The inhabitants are to pitied with fervency upon this declaration. Thank you.) A land filled not with the sure tell signs of extensive retail establishment or inundated with suburban sprawl. It was a Land of . . . . . . .land. Bordered by other. . . land . . . with a scattering of houses built close together every now and then between stretches of . . . land.

The Girl and family enjoyed the less frantic pace of life and seemed to merge into this Land of Youth quite easily. Of course, the Girl was provided with toys and games to fill her bedroom and engage her mind on the bi-annual occasions of birthdays & Christmas. However, one day the mother of the beautiful baby Girl turned beautiful 7 year old Girl, realized all the toys were simply extraneous entrapments and unnecessary in their new locale. Because upon wandering out of doors to check on the children while visiting relatives she happened upon this sight:
Apparently, children would rather do this, than any other thing here in the Land of Their Youth.


The mother didn't know what those things are.

Looks as though they held something explosive at one time or another. She was hoping they were empty. But was too busy looking at her daughter's bare feet in a cattle pasture to think of asking.
The newly barefoot Girl and her older, wiser cousin dressed in the required uniform for play (ie, camo), briefly broke sport to examine the cow patty that was too dense for rolling over.




All spectators quickly learned that the position on the left is often precluded by the position on the right.






And that, my dear friends, is a brief, yet quite telling example of life for the Big City born baby turned Country Girl.



Thank you, Uncle T, for providing such fun, imaginative, indestructible, post?-explosive devices for our children to use for their pure, uncivilized delight. How can a mother thank you?