Over Yonder

We spent the weekend at Ryan's family's 120 acre farm in East Tennessee in the foothills of the Smoky's. We picked wild blackberries, rode the new 4 wheeler and towed Paps old truck out of the hay barn he built that is about to collapse.

Ryan's Poem "The Farmer" 1987:

"Once their lived a farmer who lived in Tennesee. He had a very big farm. The Farmer's name was Robert Johnson. He had 42 cows and one horse which was his granson's. His grandson's names were Bob and Ryan. Ryan liked to drive the tractor. Bob just liked to ride Ryan's motercicle. When it was time to go home Ryan hides."

Bertha (Sadly, I think this is her nickname), a local folk artist in Rutledge. The center painting is her in Italy under an olive tree and on the right cavemen in the woods (what in world?) worshiping trees, maybe?

Aunt Georgie (Georgia) on the left, Granny on the right, and little Therman(2 yrs old) in the center. Oh yeah, he's dead in this photo. They didn't have anyones of him alive. So apparently it was common to take a photo like this. His eyes are draw in. I cover little Therman up with a hand towel when I visit the farm.

Ryan's Granny and Pap (who've since passed away) lived and worked on the farm and Granny's parents and grandparents before them. Ryan's mom was born in a little white house now next to the brick ranch were we stay when we visit. Both houses and both barns were built by Granny's family and/or Pap. The little white house built in the 1900s is rented out and still has his original hardwood floors and fireplace. The farm land was once filled with tobacco (or baccer as the locals call it) and cattle. Ryan spent the summers riding on the tractor with his Pap, helping on the farm and eating his Granny and Aunt Georgie's fried chicken, green beans and the still the best Grainger County tomatoes (mators) in the south.

Ryan's dad has just about every car they have owned somewhere on the property. The only car I couldn't document was the family station wagon. Ryan's older brother, Bob, once drove the station wagon with a group of buddies and a keg to the families farm in south Georgia to the shabin. The Shabin is the shack cabin on the farm mostly used for a hunting lodge. Bob and his friends thought it would be fun to take turns riding down the gravel road on the farm on top of the luggage rack. They bottomed out the wagon onto a large rock and gouged a whole in the gas tank. Once they found the keys they lost in the woods the next morning, they headed home leaking fuel and spending hundreds of dollars to keep gas in it. Unfortunantly, the family truckster was too far back in the Tennessee woods for it make blog appearance.

Hank had the most fun chasing us the whole weekend up and down the hills and even into the blackberry briars.

He was feeling that later in the evening when his face swelled up. I accidently led Hank into an area where he got painful tangled in loose barbed wire looking for the wagon. He has some scars on his belly and an high pitched squeel my ears will never forget. Poor guy.

Saturday we went up to a friends wedding (whom I traveled in Italy with during my study abroad) in a beautiful vineyard in the rolling horse farms of Lexington, Kentucky. I couldn't help saying "Wow, they have nice grass."