We just returned from a island vacation in the Bahamas. We took a private cruise, stayed there three days, and wore flip flops the whole time. I'm kidding.
In reality we went to Davis Island, a hunting island in the middle of the Mississippi River. All nineteen Mosses went to stay at a three bedroom lodge, because Big George (Daddy's father) has a hunting membership there.
Us on the barge crossing the river.
Davis Island is named after Joseph Davis, the brother of Jefferson Davis, the president of the south during the Civil War. Both brothers had plantations on Davis Island, but Joseph lived there more. There are several old ruins there, and above is the library.
Three generations of Campbells and Mosses. Big George's best friend growing up was Mr. Richard Campbell, and the two families have come to the island together often.
Uncle Philip shot a deer, much to cousin Philip's delight. Georgie was right in the middle of the whole gutting process. Sorry about the picture, I've built up a immune system through killing roosters.
We had a small accident. All the houses on the island are built on stilts or hills to prevent flooding. Our house was on a hill and Mamie and Big George's all terrain vehicle was parked at the top of the hill, while all the other cars (ours included) were parked at the bottom. We heard shouting outside, and saw the all terrain vehicle rolling down the hill (with no one in it) towards our aunt's Suburban. The hill was long enough and steep enough, that it would have been a big smash, but the all terrain vehicle turned and and stopped right between our van and the Suburban. It broke the one of our headlights, but Daddy fixed it. Thank you, God!