The rest of the story

Tony wasn't exaggerating too much about our recent trip to the great state of Oregon. We drove over ice at 35 mph (or less) through Utah and half of Idaho, meaning that Sweet Baby Afton spent 11 hours in
her car seat. To our utter amazement, she was a dream.  She was happy the entire way.  The same cannot be said for her dear old dad. In the 11 hours we traveled, Tony said four (4) things to me:
--"I forgot my glasses" (just after we pulled out of the driveway)
--"She said I-84 is ice both ways" (referring to the cashier at the gas station in Tremonton)
--"Is she buckled in?" (at the gas station in Mountain Home)
--"So is it going to get worse!?!" (just past Ontario after I got off the phone with my dad)
Nevertheless, we were grateful for his expert driving. He wasn't kidding when he said we passed a snow plow that had slid off the road.

The adventures didn't end with our 11-hour drive. The day after we arrived, Tony got bundled up and went out to help my dad feed the cows.

The rest of us stayed inside by the heater.  (Those are not my legs -- I believe they are Jordan's.)

Once Tony and my dad ventured out of the house they discovered 
all of the snow drifts.  The storm that came in just after Tony and I had the night before had done a number on the farm.  We were snowed in.  My brother said, "It's like the Donner party," and we started discussing who we'd eat first.  After our various choices and reasoning, Tony pointed out that there were a lot of cows we could eat before we had to eat each other.  We voted him our leader.  
Luckily my dad was able to make it out by going through our hay field, then the neighbors field.  He returned with my cousin, my cousin's husband, and most importantly, my cousin's husband's four-wheel drive truck.  My brother Jordan declared, "We've been rescued like the Willie & Martin handcart company."  (Somehow I think the Mormon pioneers stranded in Wyoming would probably think our rescue from a well-heated house was a titch different.)  Since my father couldn't guarantee that we'd be able to get back in that night if we got out, we packed our bags to spend the night in town.

We made it out (Thanks Adam and Joseph for getting us to town!), and we made it to our extended family's Christmas party.  I was excited as I had not had my Aunt Gwen's BBQ pork in five years and I had missed it. 
Afton made the rounds at the party and then we headed over to my grandma's house to spend the night.  
The next morning we had a four generation get-together as Afton, her grandmother, and her great-grandmother are all early risers.  (I am not but ended up at the party by default of being Afton's food source.)
After a few carrots to top off breakfast (this is Afton on a relatively neat and tidy feeding of solids)
it was time to get dressed up and head to church to hear Uncle Jonah speak.  We had a great party afterward, and then we packed up (again) to head back to the farm for our last night together.  We were home only a couple hours when
the power went out.  (Note the candles and the headlamps.)  According to my father, this only happens a couple times a year.  That was the same thing he told me when I was home last June and the fire alarms went off (twice) in the middle of the night when it was just me and Sweet Baby Afton (who slept through the blaring noise) at the house.  Uncanny.  We put Afton to bed and debated how long to leave her there before pulling her into bed with us -- remember, no power = no heat.  Luckily, after a couple hours we were up and running again 
but not until I had a permanent ring on my forehead from the head lamp.  

The next morning, Tony said goodbye to the cows.  Each time we come, my parents get more and more convinced it's the last holiday they will ever see me.  
But alas, it was time to go.  The poor kid spent another seven hours in her car seat.  The glazed/zoned/groggy look says it all.  My mother curses the farm from about mid-November to April each year, but I usually remind her that were it not for the farm, we wouldn't have many stories.