Uncle Kevan vs. the USA

Meet Uncle Kevan. Tall, bearded, bold, blonde. A jet pilot, rock drummer, lover of dogs and keeper of chickens. My mom's younger brother, he's spent the last few weeks adventuring through the states, starting in Great Falls, Montana and stopping by Austin for a few tacos and hugs from the Texas branch of the family tree.

I think we really did manage to have tacos 3 times in two days, but what is Austin if not North Mexico? He arrived bearing navajo jewelry for Ruby and sundry treats for us, regaling us with tales of Nascar and lawyers, baby Shayla and living in Ft. Lauderdale in the 80s.

He endured without complaint my spicy cooking, my baby wolverines howling and climbing him like a tree, and even agreed to accompany me to work to see some live bands, befriending the regulars and manfully staying up at least 5 hours past his bedtime.

We gave him the quick Acura tour of town, pausing at a junk store to rescue a vintage belt buckle and to wander South Congress with touristy smiles on our faces.

We unfortunately ran out of time for BBQ, natural swimming coves, book stores and Ginny's "Chicken Sh*t Bingo" but that just means he'll have to stay longer next year.

God bless ye and your epic road trip, Uncle! May your beard grow long and your boots never go out of style.