On Sunday, we went to my grandparent’s house. I haven’t seen them since I got home (and my grandma broke her wrist), so we went down to say hello. My grandparents own a restaurant and farm pine trees, so they live in the middle of nowhere on 500 acres of beautiful, rolling, pine-covered hills. This is their backyard. When we come here, we spend hours driving in their Gator and golf cart around the trails that are carved into the pine trees.
Grandma’s houses are always the best because there’s always food. In this case, we had ribs, onion mac-and-cheese, baked ham and swiss sandwiches, potato salad, and blueberry pound cake.
All I could talk about in Colombia was how much I missed American food, and this was the best.
Afterwards, my brother and I were playing chess with my sisters and cousins, when he asked if we wanted to help him pick apples from his apple tree. So of course we said yes!
This is Kay’s “such apple, much green, very rot!” face.
This is my “derp?” face.
The lighting was so great that Kay and I traded my phone just snapping pictures.
Between Griffin, Kay, myself, my grandpa, and my two cousins Mason and Lydia, we had the job done pretty quickly (and the deer had a lot of rotten apples to munch on!)
Nothing’s better than homemade apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Except when you’ve picked the apples yourself at your grandparent’s country hideaway.