Déjà vú. I swear I wrote a poem in Mrs. Wiley's class about this rural settling. The arbor-like Apple trees reached out their ample arm-hairs to satiate my appetite. I can still remember parts. Just imagine the cool fall mornings of rising early for some quick tea and toast, and then off to the fields. Football every Friday. Leading Sunday school every morning. It's funny how after writing all this, the picture hardly resembles the image in my mind.