Friday morning began with a bit of baseball in the driveway at Dad’s house.

And a few laps around the house. According to Alden, the rocks were islands and the space between a river. Naturally, the point was to keep from getting one’s feet wet.

And then we drove north through Missouri. Our destination, Nebraska. By way of Iowa.

Part of Missouri was on fire.

Eventually we made it to Nebraska, seat of the good life and home of Arbor Day. It hardly seems fair that one state should be so blessed.

Our specific destination was Fremont, where my grandma lives. Our even more specific destination was the Sleep Inn. Kato helped me pull the suitcases.

And then helped me test the beds.

They are, apparently, sufficiently bouncy.

Next, we headed to my grandmother’s house, where, apparently, nothing happened in 1897.

Yesterday, however, something wonderful happened. Grandma shared with Alden the doll she had when she was Alden’s age, and the trunk full of handmade outfits her mother made for her back then.

I spent an anxious hour trying to keep my small children from breaking things, including themselves.

Why do children so love playing on the stairs? The question is rhetorical.

Fortunately, they also enjoy riding on shoulders.

I posted a three generation shot the other day. Here is one with four.

Back in our hotel room that night, we watched basketball, lamenting Kansas’s late-game collapse and celebrating Duke’s gritty win over Michigan State.

Some of us cheered harder than others.

Saturday morning, the kids enjoyed continental breakfast in our motel room.

Followed by the world’s largest cinnamon roll at a nearby diner.

And perhaps the world’s finest breakfast burrito. Stuffed with pulled pork. Say what you will about Nebraska (and I hope you will say that it is a magnificent place), they sure do know how to cure a hunger.

Next we hit the old-school playground in the town park. I’ve driven past it many times over the years and never thought to stop. But now I have children. It’s funny how that changes things.

Now that he can walk and climb, August has adopted a fearless approach to just about everything.

The big kids were delighted by the merry-go-round, which have been summarily excised from all of the playgrounds they frequent back home. Probably for reasons of peril and expensive insurance. But they sure did have a good time.

Back at Grandma’s house, we admired a lock of Dad’s hair, and those of his three brothers.

And I admired my namesake swan in Grandma’s sitting room window. It is a habit among we Swanson’s to collect swans for our homes. I’ve yet to acquire mine.

Next we headed to the outskirts of Fremont for a surprise birthday party for my dad’s brother Mark and his wife Donna. Both of them are turning 60 this year. There was cake.

There was merriment.

And there were mud balls. Alden, Kato, and their new friend Riley spent the better part of an hour making remarkable mud balls. Why they did it, I do not know. I did not ask and they did not say.

It was the first time that all the cousins of my generation have been together in more than ten years.

And here are my dad and his mom and his brothers. The Swansons are a fine group of people. I’m proud to count myself among their ranks.

And although we were officially celebrating birthdays, today just happened to be my Dad and Judy’s 17th wedding anniversary.

As the sun set, Dad threw Kato a few more pitches.

Then Uncle Jeff helped Kato ignite a little March Madness of his own. I’d like to tell you the ball went through the hoop.

Not to be outdone, August took his best shot. It was a fitting end to a wonderful day.

Tomorrow we head back to Kansas City, doing our best to continue the kids’ geographic confusion.

Every time we pull into our motel parking lot, Kato asks me if we’re back in Chestertown. Apparently, the tractor dealership next door reminds him of home. And I have to say there are some similarities between what one finds on the Eastern Shore and in the nation’s heartland.

I just wish it were the breakfast burritos.