Every summer my family makes the 550-mile journey to my family’s farm in central Illinois, where century-old barns bulge with ravenous pigs and the farmhouse fills up with two dozen more mouths to feed.

It’s no wonder we meet up on Grandpa and Grandma’s farm, the only place imaginable to feed all these growing grandkids. Here, the harvest is plenty — Grandma’s zuchinni bread and pork noodle casserole, Grandpa’s daily pick of green beans, and Aunt Molly’s hidden vegetable Yum Yum as I call it. Because whatever we ate could compete with Grandma’s Yummy bars!

But as much time as we spend serving up seconds, somehow these little creatures with monster appetites feed us, the adults, more. Where else can you find a friendly cricket-catching competition, a sidewalk turned into a two-wheeler highway and unscripted plays with a cast of cousins? These curious cousins — as lively as crickets caught in a critter jar — feed our lust for life, for love, for family.