It's happened; my family are a bunch of hicks! It all began when my parents moved out of the city limits of Duluth to a more peaceful, quieter, rural area. I thought we evaded the hick stigma well at first - it was like visiting a lake home. We had cocktail cruises on the pontoon boat, we lounged in the hot tub, and we BBQ'ed every night we visited. It was easy to forget the time when we shot at soda cans with a pellet gun (the same pellet gun my mom uses to scare away deer and bears... yup, like to forget that one too,) or the times my brother-in-law went ice fishing on the lake, or even the times when my dad let the 2-yr-old grandsons drive the truck on the dirt roads. But we spent this weekend donning fishing waders, digging out the bog that has settled into the lake front in lieu of a sandy beach. All the while we were getting muddy and wet, about 10 lbs of beef brisket was cooking in my dad's smoker. The only saving grace was that we weren't cooking anything we shot with our own hands. If I ever see a snowmobile or 4-wheeler in my parents driveway/lawn/garage, it will be a lost cause...
