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Where the story begins…

This entry is part 2 of 9 in the series A Home...where the Buffalo no longer roam

The story begins ever before the image in my first post of this series (which admittedly was a little light on the detail).

Yet my beloved, infrequent visits to “the farm“  always seem to make me think of that song.

“The Farm” was purchased by my grandfather… sigh, I am speculating about eighty years ago and is where my mom grew up.  It is a 1/2 section of land (about 320 acres) that lies in what our family has progressively learned to call “the hills.”  The Hills are on the Southwest side of Gothenburg, Nebraska.  In total, the trip from the interstate junction is about eighteen miles, but it is a wonderful eighteen miles.

The first image I shot on our Memorial Day Weekend, though beautiful, doesn’t force recollection of any memories of this great place (though it may for my mother)… but it was sun set and we sat outside the gate, and it was simply stunning.

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My earliest memories of the Farm are from my grandparents transition into living in town.  I couldn’t have been more than six years old, so I didn’t get it at the time, but certainly having their life’s work sold at auction couldn’t have been easy for either of my Grand Parents.

Please don’t mistake what I am saying.  The farm equipment wasn’t sold because it had to be.  It was sold to support the transition.  A transistion in lifestyle made necessary by my grandfathers health.   A brain tumor first presented itself when my GrandDad was very young (my mama was still in high school), and in the years that past eventually took his life.  But in the years that past, my time spent with my GrandDad was memory filled and WONDEFUL.    And to this day, so many of the images I will share in this series make me think of him.

This is most certainly one of them.

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The time I spent in this truck was sometimes interesting, sometimes fun, but most certianly wonderful memories.  I will share them as the series continues…

Stay Tuned!

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