My Uncle Pete, as expected, drove into our tree-lined farmyard. I felt myself sag as the tires drove puffs of dust into the air. Dad walked rapidly from the house, getting into the back of the blue 1949 Ford coupe just as it rumbled to a halt. Uncle Pete immediately pumped on the gas pedal, leaving a cloud of dirt in his wake. I knew they would pick up Uncle Ed, who lived just down the road. They were headed for the Gretna Beer Parlour.