Last Thanksgiving, the boys got restless at Grandma's house and decided to search for a cave. When Grandma caught wind of this, she suggested McClusky Cave, a cave that she had explored as a child. Before you knew it, everyone was getting their grubbies on to go in the cave, including Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, the girls -- everybody. The whole group piled into Grandpa's van and rode out into the countryside, through a cotton field, and when it was too muddy to drive any farther, got out to walk. We trudged through the briars, jumped over a stream, and eventually found a hole in a rocky hillside that was McClusky Cave. With 3 flashlights divided amongst about a dozen people, we inched our way into the maze of tight little passageways. From time to time, we tried to congregate as many people as we could fit into one of the small chambers. Grandma had in mind a specific room in the cave, and each time we stopped in a chamber, we asked Gramdma if this was the one. Finally, we came upon a room with some names scratched on the wall, and Grandma remembered one of the names from her childhood, and knew that this was the room she had remembered. The name had been scratched there about 50 years ago but looked like it had been etched there just moments before. We turned around to find our way out, but got lost in the twisting passageways, and it all became quite confusing for a while, since everyone was calling out to each other for directions. A bat fluttered up against my hand as I led my sister behind my Dad. Eventually we came upon some light and the exit once more, and that was the end of our sudden little caving trip.