If there was ever a time that I was the most content, it was growing up on the farm in Shattuck.  A large three story white house with a wrap around porch sitting smack in the middle of 80 acres of wheatfield.  Each evening after dinner we would all take a walk down to the end of the section road.  1/2 mile down and 1/2 mile back either way you went.  A ritual that quietly began each spring and just as quietly ceased as the cold of winter set in.  Two large metal barns just right for exploring… and jumping into haystacks.  A treehouse and swing set comprised of rummaged wood and old tires.  A hen house filled with persnickety layers and a championship rooster.  The grand champion of the County at least.  I remember a field full of watermelons and tomatoes and riding my horse over the hill to Sam’s house.  These will be the memories of my children too.  The location is changed and but the spirit is the same.  Farm life breeds contentment and a connectedness to the land.  I look forward to days when they tell of “when we were young.”