As time on my uncle’s farm drew to a close with his family’s impending departure at hand, I set out, once again, to photograph the beauty and majesty I found there. David grew up there and he raised his children there. His tremendous commitment and care for the land, the buildings, the whitewashed fences, the animals, his family, and their home were all evident. It is true that you never really know what you have until it’s gone. I took for granted that the farm was just a half hour away down Route 94. For decades I squandered time I could have spent there writing short stories beneath the huge Linden trees in the front yard, kicking back on the screened in porch visiting, and walking the fields. Not to mention photographing further in-depth the marvels that only exist in an 1825 solid brick farmhouse or a well-preserved barn built in 1850 and still in use 155 years later. Here you see tulips (originally planted by my Grandma) in their full splendor, bidding me a final farewell and providing such a wonderful way for me to remember that great old farm.
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