The woods, dirt roads, the sweet fragrance of fresh earth, the late spring suns' warming rays thru the canopy of green, sounds too good to be true. that is something I look forward to each year. A tradition started by my Father, 60 or more years ago. About the the time of the decline of the family farm. Why did I say that? Pretty simple really, he was first and foremost a farmer.
This years trip was a bit late, Nope, not looking for that postcard shot, looking for the "times past but not forgotten" shot...
