Adventures are often found in the simplest of places. I found them in the lap of my grandfather.
He loved to sit down to a meal and linger over a cup or more of coffee. He was a dunker. He let us grandkids sit in his lap and “dunk” in his coffee, too. He put sugar and cream in his coffee and dunked almost everything. Bread, biscuits, cake, pie, and pizza was dunked in his coffee. Whoever sat in his lap added more sugar and cream and took a sip. If he dunked, we dunked.
Sitting in his lap, I imagined being with him on one of his adventures as he told story after story. We traipsed across the plains together following the harvest all the way into Canada. We traveled by horse, train or rode in a horseless buggy. He tied the bedroll and fiddle on the side of the saddle, hoisted me up behind him, and we rode cross country to an old homestead where he played for a dance at the end of the harvest.
My granddad and his team – Mae & Jim 
I peeked out the back of a covered wagon and watched Indians following from a distance as we trailed from Oklahoma to Montana. My granddad rode alongside the wagons on Old Bill. Nights were filled with the music of fiddles being played around the campfire.
Family wagons headed north
His tales came to life as he recounted his batching days. They were so vivid, I could almost the mouse tail hanging out from between a stack of pancakes slathered with butter and syrup when he played a trick on his batching partner, John. I could almost smell “Old Stink” outside his cave near Zortman as my granddad told the story of the old man.
By the time he was done with his coffee, the cup was half full of dunking dregs. He would take a spoon and eat what was left. His cup was soon empty, but my cup of memories was full.
Dunking with one of his great granddaughters