Several years ago, while building flower beds around the addition, we came across a rock that had a date carved into it.
Today a man’s trip down memory lane led him to his grandparents’ former homestead where he spent his summers as a child. As he looked around our farm, he pointed out where barns, milkhouses, and wells used to be. He spoke about how the brook only ran in the spring and about the three large rocks that were used as a bridge.
As we chatted some more he suddenly smiled when he remembered how he had spent the better part of a summer’s day with a chisel and a hammer, and a rock.
