Go Ahead, Make Our Day! Boys, Guns & Summer Farm Fun

Dirty Harry's got nothing on these guys.

This weekend, our backyard transformed into what can only be described as the Redneck National Shooting Range. Targets? Empty soda cans and paper bulls-eyes taped to a cardboard box. Equipment? A collection of firearms that could make even Clint Eastwood raise an eyebrow. Motivation? Well, let’s just say it was a perfect storm of summer boredom, family bonding, and an excess of testosterone.

Jim’s oldest son, James, came for a visit with our granddaughter Riley in tow. Within minutes, the guys had their “man time” plan hatched. Translation: make as much noise as legally possible while talking about gun calibers, reloading, and how “back in my day” a good rifle didn’t need all those fancy scopes and gadgets. It’s a universal truth—give grown men a free afternoon, and somehow it always leads to fire, explosions, or firearms.

Out in the yard stood the proud trio: 16-year-old Nate, James, and my husband Jim—three generations of would-be action heroes lined up like a farm version of Mount Rushmore. Sweat dripping, ear protection on, eyes narrowed with focus. The smell of gunpowder hung in the humid air while a symphony of bangs echoed through the trees. I half expected the neighbors to start humming “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.”

And where was Riley during all this heroic nonsense? Inside—curled up on the couch, eating snacks, and basking in the glory of air conditioning. That girl’s got sense. While the men were out proving their mettle (and probably losing a pint of sweat per minute), she stayed cool, comfortable, and unbothered.

At the end of the day, the soda cans were riddled, the menfolk were grinning, and the women of the house had our sanity intact. Sometimes, you just let the boys play cowboy—because honestly, it keeps them out of the house and gives us something to laugh about later.

Now that’s my kind of entertainment.

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©2009 Sandy Davis | American Way Farm