Once in a while I reflect on earlier times, as I suppose everyone does. During some of these reflections, it’s not hard to see, in my mind's eye, a picture of my Grandfather, dressed in bib overhauls and wearing a weathered 1930's era hat, standing on Lexington's main street, carrying on a conversation with another man across the street. I have no recollection of specific topics of these short conversations, but I do remember the 1950's ford and chevy sedans whizzing past as the two men raised their voices to overcome the sound of whining gears and motor noise. Lexington was the heart beat of the county then, and I suppose it still is today. On a farm located several miles from this Historic Virginia town, I spent a lot of summers during my youth, working in hay fields during the day, milking cows in the evenings and sleeping under a tin roof that made one of the best sounds in the world when it rained. After spending a hot summer’s day in the sun, my Grandfather and my Grandmother and I would sit on the front porch and look out across the valley to catch the glint of the setting sun, shining off of a car, traveling along the Sky Line Drive. These were some of the most peaceful and secure times of my life and I thought they would last forever. Little did I know about the horrors that lay ahead, in a very short progression of time, which would sever this existence forever, erasing it, as though it never was, except for the dim recollections in my mind.