Childhood Field of Dreams
If we're lucky we have a place rooted in our childhood that was a most magical place-a place stirred not by computers or plastic devices-but rather by imaginations set free to explore and pretend; wonder and soar. I've gone on and on about my 'field of dreams.' I've written about my grandfather's barn, the chicken coop clubhouse, the granary, water pipes strung on poles from the pumphouse to the barn, the farmhouse, the pastures and fields. I've told you about our rafts made from telephone poles; how there was one for the boys and one for the girls and how we'd forge our way around the creek on those rafts from one port to another on grand adventures.While this was my field of dreams, any place that ignites wonder and imagination when growing up is a field of dreams. This past week I went back there-back to that straight away on that country road where the barn, granary, chicken coop, and farmhouse sat. I wanted to take a picture to show you all that...