Some of my favorite memories take place on my grandparents' farm in the 177-person town of Alexandria, NE. Limbo-ing our way under electric fences, learning the difference between cows and bulls, tiptoeing with trepidation toward the bank of the bottomless pond, shrieking in fear when my sister and cousins pretended to be Indians on the warpath.... (I'm from Nebraska. I was an impressionable child. Give me a break.)
Right before he passed, my Grandpa sold a solid chunk of acres to the state. All I know is that the purpose somehow relates to sewage, so I decided now was a better time than later to take yet another trek across the cornfields - with my sister, now as a less vengeful companion, my mom as tour guide, my father as grudging photographer, and my adorable nephew as a prop.
The things this bridge has seen...
Sorry, John Deere, Grandpa was Farmall forever
Children of the Corn II: The Offering
This house had once been turned into my Grandma's Craft Haven. The street number 308 happens to be the same as my Gypsy Haven. Coincidence? I think not.
