All the farmers in their finest
A few weeks ago, a friend from work invited us to a party. Not just any party, but A REAL LIVE BARN DANCE. And after weeks of anticipation, the night finally arrived. We all dressed in our barn dance finest - the kids in their hats, each of us wearing our cowboy boots. Martin's dusty and scuffed up from daily wear, Sophie's outfit carefully selected to match her boots, Marty's finely polished, and mine pulled out of storage after their last wearing approximately 16 years ago.
We pulled into the farm and parked near the road next to about a hundred other cars and trucks, walked up the dirt driveway and into the barn. We were greeted by the cows below and headed up into the hayloft.
The hayloft was carefully cleaned, the dance floor wide open with the haybales stacked at the ends of the barn. Farmers and their wives, neighbors and folks from town lined the sides of the long barn.
We met our hostess Tammy near the potluck table, which was filled with pans of bars and trays of cookies, freshly stocked from the keg.
Martin kept my mother-in-law MaryLou busy on the dancefloor, asking her over and over if she would like to dance.
Sophie kept a sharp eye on the boys climbing around on the highly stacked haybales, whispering in my ear that she wanted to climb with the boys.
We kept the kids out until 9:30, well past their normal bedtime, leaving as more musicians arrived to join the well-stocked polka band.
On the way to the car, Martin talked about accordions, guitars, and dancing. Sophie, downwind from the barn, let everyone in earshot know that she could smell poop. It was a big success.
We pulled into the farm and parked near the road next to about a hundred other cars and trucks, walked up the dirt driveway and into the barn. We were greeted by the cows below and headed up into the hayloft.
The hayloft was carefully cleaned, the dance floor wide open with the haybales stacked at the ends of the barn. Farmers and their wives, neighbors and folks from town lined the sides of the long barn.
We met our hostess Tammy near the potluck table, which was filled with pans of bars and trays of cookies, freshly stocked from the keg.
Martin kept my mother-in-law MaryLou busy on the dancefloor, asking her over and over if she would like to dance.
Sophie kept a sharp eye on the boys climbing around on the highly stacked haybales, whispering in my ear that she wanted to climb with the boys.
We kept the kids out until 9:30, well past their normal bedtime, leaving as more musicians arrived to join the well-stocked polka band.
On the way to the car, Martin talked about accordions, guitars, and dancing. Sophie, downwind from the barn, let everyone in earshot know that she could smell poop. It was a big success.
As if I was not jealous enough! I want an invite next time - scratch that - I DEMAND an invite!! I am going to check out some cowboy boots now. Next stop - Hamel Rodeo!
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oh man. this would have been pure, pure heaven! It looks like so much fun. The kids are adorable. I love your long hair. I wish I could've been there too!
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