The Farm.

The Old House. It was built in 1871, I think, and my grandmother and great-grandfather were born here. My Great Aunt Nancy, now 80 years old, lives here by herself and keeps the farm going.


The barn yard.


Summer of 2010. We were hoping more family could make it, but we were so very glad to see everyone who was able to make the long journey and be there. We were so very excited to bring Chloë to this place and begin the 6th generation.


Summer of 2006. The big reunion a few years ago. I even managed to drag along a handsome boyfriend of mine at the time.


Summer of 1990. Daniel (bottom left) is a year old, and really does remind of Chloë. That's me in the pale blue shirt towards the middle.



Walking the tracks that brought our ancestors to this place. Never mind that it was almost 100 degrees with some ridiculous high amount of humidity.


One of the best things to do after a long day.




Aunt Nancy was hoping a couple of the boys could do some painting spot work on the New House, but instead we gave the entire front side a good painting (or whitewashing, as they used to call it). Katie graciously watched the baby.


Three Botkins and a Blakey on the old wooden swing.


Dad unloading firewood to store in the corn crib. Maybe the coons won't steal it.


A little goofing off too, of course.


My father managed to break a finger. Catching a football. This is the third time he has broken a finger by such a means. You'd think he would learn.




Going for a swim in the Marcus pool. My father learned to swim here. Except that he didn't float very well because he was such a wiry kid, so his scrawny frame sunk like a rock.




This is one of the greatest places on earth.