There were days when George and I went down to the wooded area by the creek and got caught in the rain. We always took shelter underneath a train trestle that did not offer much protection but it was better than none at all. We soon learned that it was wise to pack a tent when we ventured down there during the summer when it was prone to sudden cloud bursts. Great place to hunt arrow heads, go swimming in Jones’ pond on the creek, to explore, to camp out away from the boredom of our nothing little country village. We were 17 at the time. (Artificial representation of a young George and myself.)
IT'S ME AGAIN 