When the boys and I were all at the homeplace at the same time in June, a boring afternoon quickly escalated and before you know it, we were having our first annual Redneck Golf Tournament.
Buckshot: costuming expert, videographer
Jumpin’-up-n-down: head redneck/cowboy in charge of firearms
Joey-o-my-love: good ole boy, most consistent aim
Franny: dreamer/schemer/organizer, big sis
The ceremonial first shot; hands over hearts (or bellies), facing the chimney.
Old outhouse: check. Old farm stuff: check. Broken-down golf cart with no roof: check. Five-gallon buckets of golf balls: check (thanks daddy).
After a half hour of fierce competition, lots of very erratic shots, and several ice tea breaks, the tournament came to a close.
Our very own lefty. And a view of the target.
First one to hit the chimney wins! And, no surprise here, it was me!
We had an awesome awards ceremony in which I was presented with the Brown Corduroy Jacket (again, thanks Dad) and the Blue Thermos trophy. And then Eli and I nearly had a heat stroke picking up
all most of the golf balls from the pasture.
I’m already practicing for next year!