My hired hands work on cutting logs while I am away. This is a small windmill my sister and her husband gave me last year. My Dad repaired it this year and put it up again working better than ever.

The barn, it's back now broken, reclines further after 82 years of service, as it too marks the passage of time.

Hollyhocks still grow around the place just like when my grandma was there.

It is with no small amount of sorrow as I cast my last glance across the yard one last time this year.