We inflated grandpa's pants and they took up half the sky. At least from our perspective.  All the methane from the chickens and the goats and ample amounts from grandma expanded his leggings superexponentially. 

By the time he gave them up they weren't really pants so much as the many layers of living grandpa had experienced, as he rarely washed his pants but laid them out to season each night and slip into them each day as a second skin.

So now we've got them bound by ropes, hoping they don't pull the bleachers up out of the ground and cause some kind of damage.