Now Picture That: Every Parade Needs a Tractor

Creativity and imagination were not recommended when I was growing up; they were a requirement. I actually have a memory of sitting in the tree rows cutting grass into square pieces over a tin Folgers coffee can. I was making a stew on our "fire." My brother and I were playing Indians. I am aware that might not be politically correct terminology but that's what we called it and that's where this memory is coming from. Momma Debi was the Trading Post and we would go into her kitchen to make our trades for supplies or food. And then she'd send us on our way giving us clues about what rough terrain we might come upon or what kind of wild animals had been spotted recently or tell us which path to take on our map. That's one tiny capture of an example; there are so many more. We lived outside. Coming up with games on our bikes or playing with the animals or doing chores or building forts or helping Dad-o in the shop. Outside it was. Using our creativity and imagination.

Yesterday while we sat around a table enjoying lunch together, as often happens, stories started to be told. One of the time my cousin Brian and I flew from the little kid sized four-wheeler when a rock was hit in the pasture. We were both adults at the time. I was holding feed buckets and they didn't spill. It was classic. Another of Buckshot and Sister Pister tying old mattress springs they found in the trees to their tennies to create bouncing shoes. Yet one more of the time those two knuckleheads hooked up a metal saucer sled to the back of the four-wheeler with a rope. Buckshot pulled Sister Pister around and around the circle driveway whipping her fast on the turns until I heard the sparks flying while I was in the backyard watering the flowers. There were sparks because it was summer and they were on gravel. Geniuses. They were also either seven or eight at the time. They were child geniuses. While this story was being told yesterday, Buckshot piped in with, "HEY! We did put a towel down on the sled!"

Creativity and imagination are still rolling in our family. In the late afternoon sun of our 4th of July celebrations, the kids started organizing a parade. Without any direction from us. They were rocking their imaginations.

Brother announced the parade for them because he does that kind of thing. Their faces lit up when he pulled out the microphone.

Watching them go around and around the circle driveway, the driveway which has seen its fair share of foot races and lawn mower races and metal saucer sled pulling in the summertime heat shenanigans, was a heart happy moment for us all.

And then I don't know who, but someone said, "Let's have an adult parade!"

That's all it took.

We scattered. Fast. Like a herd of cats. You know how I feel about cats but that's the only way to describe the scene.

Looking for what would be our ticket. A bike, a gator, pushing a stroller, a too small bike. Things were getting snatched up quick. Daisy the dog even joined in.

I fluttered around for a bit. First, I hopped on this little tricycle. And quickly realized that would be a no go.

So I did the next logical thing. I grabbed a chunk of Gouda cheese out of the garage fridge, jumped on the front of the four-wheeler, and proclaimed myself to be the Cheese Queen. While we were lining up, I ran to the house with the spark of an idea yelling, "Wait! Just wait!" I came out with a tinfoil crown my Aunt Jane, who was inside cleaning up the kitchen, thought of bobby-pinning to my head. Every queen needs a crown.

At about that same time, Dad-o came rolling down the sideyard road in a tractor.

Yes, my dad left his post of grilling hamburgers so he could run to the back building and fire up a tractor to enter in our parade. Can you imagine the story his grandchildren will tell of the 4th of July parade at the farm? It was and will be priceless.