Over a century old, a barn barely reveals its former function. Too dangerous to enter any more, I circle around it, remembering how I learned to drive on the old red Jeep, used to climb the rafters to jump down on old straw and manure, where I first saw a cow being milked. Most of the old apple orchards have died away, most of the farm implements are reduced to skeletal axles and wheels. Just yards away lie the bones of previous people connected with this land, including the homesteader himself, I'm told. This place has been part of me for all of my life, and even I must learn to let go. We are just here for a short while, in all our busy aspirations and worries, but the Earth abides.