I’ve been home for a week, and no matter how many times I click my heels together and say, “There’s no place like Alaska in the summertime”, I still find myself in near triple digit temperatures with 95% humidity. But…there’s also no place like home…home, home on the farm. You probably know what’s coming, so I’m going to go ahead and give it to you. Here goes. Me me me me meeeeee…

Home, home on the farm

where the rabbit drinks lemonade. Where the chickens roam free

and I’m sure they’ll agree, that it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the cats

all have it made. Where the dog catches mice,

or she did once or twice. And it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the guineas are all on parade. And bless her sweet heart,

the goat rides a cart, cause it’s ninety degrees in the shade.

Home, home on the farm

where the grandkids bathe in the yard.

They do it at night and it might not seem ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ght

But- when- it’s- ninety, it’s called ‘avant-garde’. (You can’t tell me you didn’t sing that.)