tulips are for girls

This weekend Tim's cousin Peter was in town. We went out to eat together and, low and behold, I was served the most awful tasting sandwich in my going-out-to-eat history. It was a "pulled bbq chicken" sandwich. That's what I get for eating more than my weekly quota of poultry, I guess. The bbq sauce tasted like ketchup gone bad, propped up with some liquid smoke and sent out to the customers for its final round before its journey to the dump. Jonah liked the flavor. Maybe because it was corn-syrup sweet. Yum.

Today we ventured out to the Wooden Shoe Tulip Festival, which we discovered last year. We caught a clear hour when the rain clouds receded and the sun poked through, though the wind chilled us to the bone.

Since it has been quite cold here lately, half the tulips were still closed, so, shutter-happy, I made the most of the few varieties that were blooming.

Jonah didn't give a rat's ass about the tulips. He instantly dragged the whole group, dad's cousin et al, to the antique tractors that had wood fires going and were powered by steam. He also enjoyed the cow train pulled by a tractor, though Tim felt like a whale inside a tube of toothpaste riding in that thing with Jonah on his lap.

My favorite was the tent full of rescued parrots. I wanted to take one home, of course. I may be totally deluded, but my favorite one, it seemed, was eying me too. I told him I liked him and he squeezed his perch a little tighter and winked at me.

Photos here.