on the cracklin' gravel road

when i was child we always made the rather long trip by car from jackson, tennessee to visit grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins in central texas once or twice a year. my older sister and i slept most of the 11-hour drive in the backseat (and during our waking moments fought over who had the most space) in our yellow chevrolet caprice. but once we hit that cracklin' gravel road that led to grandma and grandpa's house, we knew we were almost there. time to get our shoes on. grandma and grandpa would be listening for us. surely the house would be smelling of grandma's fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. leaving a trail of dust behind us, soon grandpa would be greeting me with a big hug and a loud "wie geht's?" finally at age 29 and a continent away, i finally get it. what would grandpa have though about that? grandma would have just shook her head.