My parents, married in 1947, bought a working farm. They were not farmers and Nature reclaimed the fields. The barn became my mother’s studio and my father’s study. My sister and I grew up in that quiet realm. When our parents died, we sold the farm to a friend. Recently, I returned to the farm with my wife, my oldest son and his wife. I walked about in near silence, unsure of my own memories. Then my friend bid us sit and brought a pitcher of water from the well. I drank that cool farm water and the memories returned.