The end of summer always means one thing: Labor Day weekend. Everyone squeezes as much summer into one long weekend as possible. For us, it means a trip to the Shack and a night at Cow Camp Rodeo. It is easily one of our favorite weekends of the summer.
Earlier this week, I found myself trying to explain the Shack to a coworker. Basically, it is a one room “cabin” built by my grandpa, dad, and uncles. The entire outside of the “cabin” is “decorated” with my grandpa’s favorite auction finds. He loved antiques. There is an outhouse and well. Everyone can appreciate the newest feature: a shower where the water is heated by a “jet pack propane tank thingy”. We sleep in tents, campers, and a few brave souls (who are not afraid of rodents) sleep in the Shack. You either love or hate a place like the Shack and it’s definitely a gamble bringing new guests. Let’s take a moment to wish Olivia’s boyfriend good luck for the upcoming weekend. During the day, the kids hunt for frogs and crayfish. They make fun out of playing with rocks and sticks. They run through the corn and take truck rides back to my grandpa’s favorite spot. The adults play cards, corn hole, and bocce ball. There is a never ending to-do list of projects we try to tackle. At night we do a fire, s’mores, and go shining for “reindeer.” The car always magically stalls during shining and scary stories about “Children of the Corn” or the “UP Mangler” begin. How did we come to love this place so much? Tradition, memories, and grandparents who valued/value Jesus and time with people they love more than anything. Every summer my grandpa would take all of the grandkids up to the Shack for a week by himself. Our days were spent catching frogs, shooting the BB gun, playing kick the can, throwing darts at balloons, trying to get a bite out of a marshmallow hanging by a thread from the ceiling, bobbing for apples, and trips to see my Aunt Henrietta for a vanilla ice cream cone. At night, he would have us work on memorizing different scripture or the 10 commandments and told us Bible stories. Our favorite was the story of the fat and skinny cows. He wanted his grandkids to know and love Jesus. Eventually, all 4 granddaughters would fall asleep on a pull out couch, the boys on bunks, and my grandpa on a cot. I can’t believe we ever got a lick of sleep, especially with his snoring. My grandpa created the best kind of childhood magic. The kind that has my putting pressure on my dad to get a pet goat for the weekend because that’s what my grandpa did. Seriously, one time he got a pet goat from the livestock auction that we lovingly named Kylie. He took us to see milking farms and had us chasing after greased pigs. He would hook up the covered wagon to the tractor and take us camping at Cow Camp where we got to ride horses and talk to all of the cowboys and cowgirls. My grandpa would strike up a conversation with anyone, and I mean anyone. When you experience a traumatic death at such a young age, the death of a grandparent in adulthood can be pretty uneventful. But then there are times where you are gearing up for a weekend at the Shack, the final hoorah of summer, and all you wish for is for your grandpa to be sitting in his chair of choice (wheelchair) watching his great-grandkids run around the place that he built such a strong legacy of togetherness, adventure, and love. Grandpa, thank you for memories that will last me a lifetime and for a place of tradition where my kids will begin to make their own. You were possibly the most non-materialistic, generous, and Christ-filled person I have ever known. You are missed. Missed as much as the amount of salt it took you to season a steak, jam to spread over a piece of toast, and butter to top a cinnamon roll. This song will always remind me of you ❤️ Don’t you dare go running down My little town where I grew up And I won’t cuss your city lights If you ain’t ever took a ride around And cruised right through the heart of my town Anything you say would be a lie We may live our lives a little slower But that don’t mean I wouldn’t be proud to show ya Where I come from There’s an old plow boy out turning up dirt Where I come from There’s a preacher man in a cowboy shirt Where I come from Where a couple boys fight in the parking lot No, nobody’s gonna call the cops Where I come from See that door right there, man I swear It ain’t never been locked And I can guarantee that it never will That old man right there in the rocking chair At the courthouse square I’ll tell you now He could buy your fancy car with hundred dollar bills Don’t let those faded overalls fool ya He made his millions without one day schoolin Where I come from There’s a pickup truck with the tailgate down Where I come from The pine trees are singing a song of the south Where I come from That little white church is gonna have a crowd yeah I’m pretty damn proud Where I come from Where I come from There’s a big old moon shining down at night Where I come from There’s a man done wrong gonna make it right Where I come from There’s an old plow boy out turning up dirt Where I come from There’s a preacher man in a cowboy shirt Where I come from Where a couple of boys fight in the parking lot no Ain’t nobody’s gonna call the cops Yeah, that river runs across that Oakland rock Where I come from Where I come from If you’ve read this car do you think the GOAT (Stevo) will get a goat?
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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