Mr. Farmer

My austere neighbor, a WWII vet (who in his 80's and battling cancer, can still haul and chop firewood from the felled trees on our property) told me a story today about the day fifty years ago, when he first drove up to view the property with his wife. They had to stop halfway up the driveway to allow a family of ducks with six chicks to cross and in that instant he knew that he was home, before he even saw the house -- and the look on his face confirmed what I have always known, that time is relative and there is no such thing as age.