I’ll always wander and take photos of our neighbor’s homestead when we work cows there. I can remember the little fenced yard, the hand pump that brought water to the kitchen sink, serving our plates with fried chicken and sides and then eating outside after a day’s work. That was long ago and the fence and hand pump are gone. The windows broken. The roof collapsing. Now it’s just weathered wood, ruined furniture, and memories.
