These photos I took this morning take me back to my young years growing up on Kuser Farm with my best friend Don Slabicki. Sunday night movies, driving all over the property in one of the Kuser Ford cars, summer time in the woods, winter time sledding or skating on Kuser Pond. As I age, I frequently walk in areas of Kuser Farm where few people ever venture. For me, it is a spiritual thing, and I somehow feel closer to God. There's the wild cherry tree in the area where we set up a tent and camped out. The decayed trunk of a wild cherry tree reminds me that this is the remains of the same tree with a wood pecker hole where Don and I stashed our illicit packs of Herbert Tareyton, Lucky Strike, Regents, or Old Gold cigarettes. The windmill, which thanks to the skill of Hamilton Township workers has been beautifully restored to it original splendor. The Kuser maintenance garages where Don and I christened a brand new Ford truck body that was so new the paint was still tacky. Edna Kuser's formal garden where Don and I spent hours of drudgery weeding the paths that made it a "formal garden." Memories like these are timeless; they live on and will certainly be relived in that place they call eternity, and I call Heaven.