“Hope” is the thing with feathers, That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops ... at all - Emily Dickenson

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Sophistication

My forebearers, or why I am as suave and worldly as I am. I am particularly taken with the bright, alert look of top row, second from right. A man after my own heart. Or possibly genes?



Actually this is a threshing crew, including some of Lorna's family. In a couple of generations they would spawn a generation of college professors, writers, computer programmers, and one mighty fine elementary teacher.

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