These Good Ol' Days

We're going to that good old blue grass festival we go to every year with Grandpa C. (my Dad) It's that one where hippies and blue grass lovers old and new drive from miles around to the tiny white church in the middle of nowwhere and sit on hay bales and 2x8s set up in the yard of the church while banjo pickers and fiddle players from everywhere make there way onto the tiny stage and sing their hearts out. We'll buy as many baked goods as we can fit into our tummies from the church ladies in the basement and then we'll wash our hands in the outdoor sink and maybe get our feet wet in the creek accross the way looking for craw daddys while singers harmonize in the distance, just like I did when I was five. We'll smile at all the other music lovers willing to drive so far to smile at us and we'll enjoy the childrern dancing and squirming all over and singing and being children.

Photos from the festival in 2006