<p/><br></br><p><b> Book Synopsis </b></p></br></br><p>At the age of seventy, my dad sat down at his desk with a yellow pad of</p><p>paper and began writing stories--stories of growing up on a farm and</p><p>attending a one-room schoolhouse (Dad graduated top in his class. The only</p><p>other eighth grader came in second!) He wrote of his life in the army, of</p><p>meeting and marrying my mom, and raising a family on a farm of his own.</p><p>He spent the next eleven years adding to his book of stories, sharing them</p><p>with anyone who would listen.</p><p><br></p><p>It was New Year's Day, 2014, when my folks, Sis, and I had our final lunch</p><p>together (We grew up calling the noon meal dinner and the evening meal</p><p>supper. Lunch was served when you had family over on Saturday night, </p><p>around 9:00 PM, but I digress.) Dad passed away suddenly later that day, </p><p>and the job of telling stories passed to me. Initially, writing these stories</p><p>down was a way to grieve him.</p><p><br></p><p>The project grew and the stories kept coming, especially on evenings Mom</p><p>and I spent at her new home "in town". Life on the farm without Dad wasn't</p><p>the same, and, anyway, she'd grown tired of mowing the grass. Then, on</p><p>New Year's Day, just six years after Dad, Sis and I lost Mom. Our folks had</p><p>done everything together for sixty years; I guess we shouldn't have been</p><p>surprised.</p><p><br></p><p>In these pages you'll find stories that celebrate our family, memories of what</p><p>seem like more innocent years, and tales of growing up in rural Illinois.</p><p>They are a collection, some from those yellow pad pages of Dad's, some</p><p>from the quiet evenings reminiscing with Mom, most from the memories</p><p>still clear in my mind.</p>