In 1943 I lived in the Missouri Ozarks for a year at a beautiful, remote place called Sycamore with my grandfather Milo, and grandmother Millie Carter. They loved me and took wonderful care of me, and most of all they encouraged me to investigate everything. I think they knew that I was becoming aware of myself and everything that I sensed got imprinted on my brain. I had a million questions and every day was a adventure ending in the warm summer evening with dinner, heroic tales, and the night owls hooting from the dense forest.
And now I'm 73 and although I still find life fulfilling, I love to reachback across the decades and visit my six year old self on a playful day splashing and swimming in Bryant Creek, learning how to churn clabbered milk to make butter and cheese. Learning to spell the words I spoke, and trying to understanding what they meant, and wondering and wondering - how big is the world- and how big will I be in it?