A Happy Belated Birthday to America and cousin Mike.
(Remember the asterisk.)
Deb, Mike, and the Belleville Olsons put on quite a spread this Fourth. There was plentya (yes, I'm just making up words now, and who's going to stop me, Jodi?) food, fun, and fireworks.
Those farm boys really know how to put on a show.
I made this platter in a Martha moment. The bundt almond pound cake is from Clasen's. I filled it with blueberries and surrounded it with blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, and more blueberries.
A farm boy will always man the grill. I think Nanci took this photo.
Not everyone works as hard as Alan.
"Chaaa, I ain't no Chihuahua, I was listening for rats."
It wasn't all Spotted Cow and rat terriers. Dairy products were purchased while waiting for Aunt Sara (like Waiting for Godot with cheese) to show us a shortcut.
I discovered they had ice cream next door as I was about to walk into the shortcut, I mean bar. Old age and priorities. Peach Melba would make a good stripper name.
"What the hell does that sign say? I am a little peckish."
The kitty and puppy are the most disturbing, no? Then again, they are butterfly fed.
"You going to the Beast Buffet, Camille?"
"Take this leash off me or I'll show you a beast buffet. You said something about playing frisbee—what else you got to do."
I'm required to say that there is a permit for these fireworks and that only qualified individuals should attempt to handle and light them off. Or at least put down your beer. It's easier to hold your cigarette that way.
Somewhere Smokey the bear weeps.
We don't need no stinkin' telephoto lenses.
Did I mention Belleville, UFO Capital of the World, has it's own alien landing strip. I've yet to find it and have long since lost directions which I think I got from Dave Barry anyway.
Mike claims it's on his roof.
*What do you get when you give a UFO a tab of acid?