As I topped the knoll, I looked eastward to see the modern highway I had departed. The land my father had once plowed now green with grass and a herd of cattle grazed lazily. On the west side of the drive stood the old house. Native rock had been placed around the house on the north end and a massive fireplace was visible. The remainder of the house had been painted brownish red. Over the front concrete porch three windows indicated an upstairs bedroom. They appeared to be the eyes of the house; standing so solid, surveying the area below.

To the north stood an old smokehouse. The concrete blocks crumbling at the corners. This was possibly where my grandfather Lawson had hung and smoked the hams for winter meat. Suddenly I blinked my eyes hard, for I could see grandfather slowly walking to the smokehouse, opening the door and going inside. To the back of the smokehouse stood a tree whose limbs covered the roof. Down the sides a vine covered the block.

To the north, now fenced and used as pasture, stood an old water pump. Long since abandoned, the weather had caused it to rust. I wondered if somewhere far below there was not a pool of water just waiting for a gentle nudge of the pump handle to bring it to the surface.

Walking past the house to the west my eyes fell upon a hugh barn. Behind the opening at the center I knew was the old hay loft where my father and mother had spent evenings in the cool breeze to sooth their tired bodies after a long day in the fields. Attached on the south end of the barn was a lower, one- level milk barn. The door on the south side revealed a long line of stalls where once the cattle were milked. A stone at the entrance, covered with dirt, was readable as "Stuart and Sons Dairy - 1923", after the dirt was brushed away. Sixty-five years later, I was looking at that stone.

Back to the house I walked with a feeling of excitement. The front door opened to reveal stairs straight ahead that lead to the bedrooms overhead. To the right was a living room which held a large fireplace built with the same natural rock as the outside. To the left was a bedroom which I walked through toward the back of the house into the kitchen. I wondered how many meals my mother and grandmother had prepared in this very kitchen. As I looked around I could see a totally different view' one without a microwave, running water, toaster, electric range and all the modern conveniences we have known for years.

As I climbed into my car to leave I took one last close-up look at the house. It is a stately building; one that says, "I've seen history in the making". I wished that house could talk and tell me about my parents and grandparents. Looking over the field below I could see my father walking behind a team of horses and a plow. The wind softly whispered "This is part of your heritage", and I knew it was a part I would never forget and a part I would share with my children and grandchildren. When they pass this house, they will look up and know this was part of their beginnings years ago.