I’ve been thinking agout my recent trip to my Grandfathers old farm. I remember where there were three huge oak trees, there was only one. Two were gone without a trace. My Grandmother always wanted to call the farm, “Three Oaks Farm”.
I remember when I was a little kid, there were those three oaks, also I remember there was a dead tree, way in the other direction, on the edge of a far field. It reminded me of the Statue of Liberty.
I was thinking back, before my time, when that tree was still alive, did my Grandfather remember it? Who was there when that tree was still alive? Who was there when that tree (and the other three) were little? My Grandfather was born in 1885, I wonder who he bought his farm from? I have a lot of questions I wish I’d asked when I was younger.
I’ve been thinking about the same things around here, on this island. I have asked some people who remember some old stuff, like the first car to drive up to West Bay, and when the road to East End was two tracks, one for each wagon wheel, instead of a paved road.
Human history is very fragile. Easily forgotten.