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It was Indian summer, my favorite time of the year. I was still able to wear shorts and short-sleeved shirts. I relaxed in bliss as I watched the sun come from behind the large hill east of my house. I watched the sun silhouette the 70 plus year old trees in my yard and along the stream that chuckled merrily on its way past my home and yard. The shade and cool air made my patio and yard a little slice of heaven. It was so peaceful looking out across the stream. My mind drifted back to better days as I recalled my childhood living, working and playing around this place. The land was so much a part of me. This farm had been in my family for well over 100 years and I hoped it would be in the family long after my death. I remembered the hours I spent in the old swimming hole just down from the corner of the yard. So many of my friends came to swim and play that at times my mother thought she had a day care rather than a family. How many meals had we cooked on the built in grill beside. He told me we'd have to take two buses to get home, and I groaned, thinking of half-hour waits at bus stops. Chicago astounded me once again. We had no more than dragged my luggage to the bus stop when a bus pulled up, and Ron said it was ours. How lucky could we get? Then when we got off that bus, the other one we needed was there in less than a minute.Ron shrugged. "I know it's hard to believe, but it seems like it's always that way here. I've never seen so many buses."We were soon home, though it was only a walkup third floor garret. I didn't care a bit, because by that time Ron had told me excitedly that, yes, he would be home almost every night.We only stayed in that first apartment a month, then found a much nicer place. It wasn't the place that really mattered, though. It was that Ron and I were together. We did everything together. Every day he was free was a new exploration, and every night was a honeymoon.Amazingly, when Ron graduated from his class he got assigned to the.
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