When I was in the 12-15 age bracket I would always go and spend a week at my uncle Reed's farm when baseball season was over. I had several uncles but he was my favorite. BIG man, not an ounce of fat, just a big strong man with a deep voice that made John Wayne sound like Mickey Mouse. He had a great, large farm. Cattle, hogs and crops. I had my first motorcycle, a little Benelli. Dad would load up the bike and haul me down there to spend a week. I just rode that bike all over the farm, only orders were to stay away from the cattle and stay off the blacktop roads and stick to the pastures or gravel roads. I would ride and ride for hours. This was by a little town called Burton, Mo. Population probably around 50. There was a tiny store, kind of like the guy had on the Walton's TV show. I would pull up on my bike and the old man would fill it up. I would go into the store and reach into the cooler and pull out a root beer. Once the tank and I were full I'd hand him some coins and zoom, off again. There was a beautiful creek that ran through the property and had a tire swing my uncle had put up. I'd go swim and play around there when it was real hot and I was ready for a break. I'd get up early some mornings and go with him as he did his chores. My Aunt Mildred was an amazing cook. Three monster meals per day. God, did we eat. Those breakfasts were legendary. Eggs, flapjacks, ham, bacon, fried potatoes and onions, biscuits and gravy, fresh fruits. I would eat until I was swollen up like an old bull frog. Then at lunch there would be another spread. As for supper, forget about it! I know this sounds hideously boring to some but I would not trade those memories for anything. They were great people. Honest, hard working and genuine.