It's like that game, "I'm going on a picnic and I'm bringing with..." that we have all played in the car at one point in our road trip lives. Except I can say with almost certainty that kids don't play those games anymore. Now they have fancy schmancy things to entertain them; they don't have to remember the order of the letters of the alphabet and what items each person chose to take on their picnic. It's a cake walk for these young travelers. A cake walk.
Pretty sure I always had the hardest time remembering which letter came next in the alphabet more so than what my friend sitting next to me said for their item. In fact, I still catch myself needing to sing the entire alphabet when trying to get the order correct. Confession number 197.
Anyway, it's like that game. Only it goes something like this.
I went to the farm and brought back home with me four loaves of homemade Momma Debi bread made specially for me, tomatoes from the garden, and fresh pico de gallo salsa whipped up by Dad-o.
Trips to the farm should be more frequent.
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