I think we can just plan on this being a yearly thing I blog about. You can see my post about last year's trip up to our family's dry farm HERE, a place which is for sure, hands down, one of my favorite places in the whole entire world. Ririe, Idaho you old dog, you. It cannot be helped. I have photos of me and my sisters up here on this land when we were somewhere around 8,9 and 11 years old, during a summer week of back roads, and jeep rides, and climbing on old tractors. It's where my dad came to help HIS dad work. And where even my grandpa came to work with his dad. It's land that is rich in Adams history a beloved pillar of our childhood memories. My sweet sweet grandpa passed away early yesterday morning, yet the day before, knowing that we were headed up to the dry farm, had mustered up enough energy from his sick bed to call to my brother, "FIX THE FENCE!" Him and those giant, calloused, sun spotted grandpa hands of his loved this beautiful piece of land as a methodical and dedicated caretaker throughout his entire life. It means so much to all of us to spend time on it together, already steeping the next generation of memories.
Just a coupla show offs right here.
And now here his pile of grandkids sit in the same house. Time is so funny.
Everett learned how to sling shot some rocks while we were there, which he got very good at, very quickly.
His reaction the second after he hit his target ...
It is every bit as peaceful as it looks. But 10x more incredible in person.
These are the newlyweds in an open display of rebellion after being coerced into a family vacation one week after getting married. No I'm kidding, they loooooooooved it.
The ghost of camping past, here to cheerfully remind you of how rarely people wash their sleeping bags.
The very first of the raindrops on that fuzzy little head.
And a hat to keep those pesky drops away.
Idaho, we love you.