Once upon a time . . .

I used to go down to live on my Uncle's farm in the summer when we lived in Memphis. I think I thought of him, my uncle, as a father. I was 13 when I used to do this, but when my Dad was overseas in WWII we lived on the farm, my Mom, my sister and I. I was 4 then and he became quite important in my life, what with starting the day at breakfast with his sonorous bass voice intoning the daily Bible reading. And then me following him around most of the day as he fed the cows, plowed the fields, and worked the rest of the farm while fending off my constant questions about why this and how come that.