Thank God I'm a country girl...

I went to the country over Labor Day Weekend. Not a country. The country. The kind of country I was raised in—with small-town people and home-cooked meals and wrinkley grandmas and precious cousins and dirt roads and tractors and hot guys wearing cowboy boots and bugs—LOTS of bugs.

That kind of country.

I was visiting my sweet 83-year-old grandma and a small gaggle of cousins in western Oklahoma. In addition to my annual Christmas visit, I started making a mid-year trip a few years ago, wanting to capture some special moments with grams because time is precious.

So I have to chronicle this most recent trip because it was so much fun. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves (with a few added captions here and there).

These are my feet and unusually large cankles, 

but not my SAS comfort shoes. 

Those finely-crafted leather beauties, 

with soft rubber soles and form-fitting velcro snaps, 

belong to Betty (said grandma mentioned above). 

I have a bad habit of stealing them from her when I arrive so I can perform everyday farm tasks (including, but not limited to, the occasional family softball game). They make sliding in to home plate 

a dream and a half.

Speaking of things I take over when I arrive on the farm... 

She lets me drive this head-turner around. 

Don't let the wear and tear on this age-old speed demon fool you. 

I could easily fit at least 17 people in the back camper 

if push came to shove.

One of the things we did was visit my uncle's massive garden to pick peas and watermelons—where, mind you, hundreds of thousands of blister bugs, wasps, bees, and other creepy-crawlies have made their home. 

Needless to say, my reactionary comments throughout the whole picking process were dang near Rated R.

Just had to throw this one in. If my mom knew I'd posted a picture of her behind online for all the world to see, she'd curse the day I was born. 

(Dad, don't tell mom, k? It'll be our little secret. K...thanks.)

Red Oklahoma dirt. Word to the wise: 

Do not, I repeat, do not lay in this stuff and roll around in it. 

It will NEVER come out of your clothes. They'll be ruined for all eternity.

This is the pond on my grandma's land. My cousins and I spent MANY a summer fishing in this very spot. And I spent many a summer gagging and faking seizures every time I had to bait a hook with an oogey, wiggly, "tobacco-spitting" grasshopper.

Grandma's house. This is a sight that never grows old. I could probably drive here with my eyes closed, using only my sense of smell, following the enticing aroma of her delicious biscuits and gravy.

See that barn in the background? That's a picker's DREAM, my friends. I was like a scrappy scavenger in that place. All I needed was a camera crew and my own TV show.

That's my Uncle Mike in the tractor, 

doing what he does best—being a farmer. 

I kind of wish I could drive one of these in real life in the city, so I could sit 9 feet tall above the ground and pick up random stuff along the way—like joggers or jay-walking squirrels or litter.

I love this sweet lady with my whole heart. She's such a godly, strong prayer warrior of a woman, who loves our family deeply. 

We brought her sacks full of peas from the garden to shell. 

She said, and I quote, "Oh, I just love shelling peas. I could do it for hours and hours and hours. Don't you just love it? I just love it." 

So cute and precious and funny and wrinkley.

 

The whole family met up in Elk City and went to the rodeo
—with box seats, y'all. Wha what?

I could write a book on how much I love this event, but I'll spare you the mush and gush. Instead, I'll just say it's one of the places I feel most at home with my people.

And look at this sweet, precious, darling, sugar-plum, pumpkin-face, baby cousin who was wearing his full-on bull-riding gear. What you didn't see was him leaning over the fence every few seconds to spit in the dirt

—like a real cowboy. Atta boy, Lukey.

Dad, cousins, and I ran (ha)—yeah right, walked—the 5K to support the Elk City Booster. It was hot. And I mean... 

H-O-T, 

sweating bullets, 

wanted-to-die, 

take-me-home-Jesus, 

need-to-cool-off-in-a-vat-of-ice-cream-after-this-is-all-over 

kind of heat.

They may or may not have started tearing down the finish line when I crossed it, but we made it!

Can't have a proper rodeo without a proper downtown parade. The entertainment was priceless. And I kid you not...there was even a very large man riding a horse with his boom box duck-taped to the side of the poor creature.

This picture was taken right after I wiped the drool off my mouth and picked myself up off the concrete. 

Give me a man riding a horse...

with a 5 o' clock shadow of stubble on his face,

wearing boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt,

and I'd leave the normalcy of my 9-5 in the city 

to be barefoot and pregnant on a farm in the middle of nowhere 

for the rest of my days.

My cousin let me jump in the saddle and go for a ride around the arena on this ol' girl. Her name is Mod. 

She's looks innocent enough, right? With her hair all tied up in pretty ribbons? And her head bent low in humility? 

Ha. On the contrary, she's a sassy lil' devil with an attitude.

Look at her. Just look at her. 

She's already smartin' off and complaining 

and asking for a drink of water in the 102-degree heat. 

Suck it up, Mod. Giddyup. Let's go.

I shouldn't be so harsh on Mod. She really is a sweet girl. 

She even made me look like a bad-a** cowgirl in this photo op. 

Thanks for the memories, Mod. I'll get off now so you can breathe again.

This is what one calls "working the sheep." 

My cousins (see cute brother-sister duo above) make BANK on them at competitions. They're experts at making these guys behave and look pretty for the judges—all because they "work them" for hours and hours every week so they'll be ready.

So they showed me how to do it. Let's just say...I smelled like a 

sheep's butt for at least a week after this photo was taken. 

The stench stays with you. 

P.S. No, I don't have a Bump-It in my hair. That's just my natural Texas Tease. Leave a comment if you'd like a private tutorial.

Rodeo #2 – Gah. Sigh. Love. Dream. Drool.

Just put me out in the middle of the arena and let me lay in that red dirt for the rest of my life with the cowboys and bulls and broncos stampeding around me. Heaven.

Wait. My clothes. Never-ending stains. I forgot. Nevermind.

Daddy wanted to enter the Dodge Ram drawing so bad. 

(You wish, Pastor. Mama would throw a fit.) 

But he stood there posing next to it, looking like he already owned the whole dadgum kit and kaboodle. So I obliged his little fantasy with a photo to document the encounter.

God bless, 'Merica. The end.

I'm telling you, people. The country does a body good. 

Try it. Drive 30 miles outside of your city and stand in the middle of a field. Then take a big whiff. Once you can get past the pungent fragrance of cow manure, your lungs and the depths of your soul will thank you.