Happy Chris LeTuesday!

Until today, I forgot that in Wyoming's capitol city every Tuesday is Chris LeTuesday.

It's a tribute one of the local radio stations has done ever since the great Chris LeDoux died in 2005. They play two LeDoux tunes, back-to-back, around every hour throughout the day. It's magic, and it's just one little thing that makes me love this part of the world. In honor of how down-right giddy it made me to spend a Chris LeTuesday in Chey-town, here's a little tribute I found to Mr. LeDoux with one of my favorite songs:  

Here's another little reason I love WyoBraska. Well, it's more of a big ol' reason... the big ol' open space:

On this Chris LeTuesday, I'm reaching back a few days to share a couple highlights of my first day visiting the Cowboy and Cornhusker states.

Saturday afternoon, my brother and our friend Robin showed up at the farm, ready for fun. When we were in high school, I can't even begin to count the number of hours our crew of friends spent cruising country roads; driving for hours and hours aimlessly looking for fun, wasting time, causing trouble, solving the world's problems or just "shootin' stuff." The boys were mostly interested in the latter.

Some things never change. In fact, most things about home never change, and that's exactly why I love it. The three of us loaded up in Brother's pickup and spent the afternoon rambling across empty fields, pastures and rutted trails in search of "stuff" to shoot. "Stuff" as in any rodent that dared cross our path.

They're pretty tough, walking into the horizon with their big shiny guns... in search of little bunnies and ground squirrels. Real macho stuff like that.

 This is Brother's newest toy. Between the two of them, they own 12 guns. Overkill? Perhaps. Pun intended.

I, as usual, dawdled along behind them, taking pictures of clouds and cows. <3.

For the most part, I was more interested in shooting photographs than guns. But they did let me shoot the .22 for a while, and let me just say: all those hours playing Big Buck Hunter in college bars paid off after all.

Once I got over the thrill of my successful hunts, I went back to shooting pictures.

But the fun was just getting started. While I was busy planning my trip home, my Daddio was planning a little party of his own. Not a party for me; a party that just happened to fall on the weekend I was home. The guys at Nelson Farms worked calves last week, so we celebrated by frying up the Rocky Mountain variety of oysters.

It was an evening filled with approximately half of Kimball County, including our family...

...fun friends...

...and dancing. Lots of dancing...

We may or may not have "slapped the bladder" a few times throughout the night, too. If you don't know what that means, don't ask. Or go ahead and ask...but be prepare to be disgusted just a little.