Grunting About Tanks and Other Manly Pursuits

Don't you just love farms? Harvesting corn. Mooing at the cows. Petting the velvety noses of the horses. Picking tanks from the orchard.

Huh??

That's right! Here in Vir-Jinny, we have us a tank farm.

Yup. A tank farm. Where we grow tanks.

Oh ok, maybe not. The American Wartime Museum has a giant field where they park, drive, and show off their macho antique WWII era tanks. This field is affectionately known as the Tank Farm. They have a huge demonstration every summer.

When they are able to get the tanks to start, they drive them around and show off their capabilities. All while dressed in fashionable tank driver garb. I dig the glasses.

Along with real tanks, miniature tanks can be found roving the grounds and pausing occasionally to shoot at unsuspecting tank enthusiasts.

At first you are all like, "Aw! It's so cute!" Then it shoots at you....

NO! Fear the baby tank. Fear it!

In addition to macho tanks and baby tanks, you'll also find interesting experts dressed up in WWII uniforms. You can hop, skip, and jump from the British and American soldiers...

I loved this guy. He was such an interesting character.

...to the Nazi soldiers and interrogate them about their weaponry and uniforms.

There were also explosions and flamethrower demonstrations. Apparently, a flamethrower is a "giant bug sprayer" lit on fire.

These things are HOT. I thought my skin would blister while taking this picture. And I was using the telephoto lens...

Of course, while the men were strutting around, thumping their chests, and grunting about tanks, guns, and fire, I was merrily skipping around chasing butterflies and grasshoppers in a skirt.

And stalking small children to whom I am in no way related. Thank goodness for the telephoto lens.

The Tank Farm is boy heaven. Panzerfausts and helmets... How can you lose?

Especially when you're allowed to touch and climb all over everything. I'm taking Joseph next year, because it is BOY HEAVEN! Just look at that giant blue-stained toothy grin!

And, finally, much to my husband's shame, dismay, and horror, I went around asking USAAF ladies how to replicate their hair dos.

(You need a hair rat.)

What's so wrong about that?