I was back in Iowa for a high school reunion and I stayed a few extra days to wander around northern Iowa and photograph places I remember from the '40's and early '50's. It was the perfect childhood: freedom to explore; entire days outside spent chasing chickens, snakes and bugs; climbing trees and Butler Bins (corregated aluminum grain storage bins); two wonderful and playful, and devious, brothers who I idolized and would follow anywhere; and parents who preferred we be outside than inside with our pesky antics.We had no T-V and I don't remember a telephone, although I think we had one on the wall that had only a receiver - no dial. We climbed up to the loft of the barn and jumped out onto the top of the haystack and slid down, scaring the cows that happened to be chomping at the bottom. We climbed the tree next to the Butler bins and hopped over to run around the top of the bin, even jumping over the space between the two bins to chase each other around the top of the second one. Once, while climbing the tree, my little brother, Brian, fell and broke his arm. I remember his cast being a nuisance when he wanted to climb again. When the bins were empty we crawled inside and hid. This was a great dark place for scary stories that always sent me screaming outside into the light while my brothers sat laughing. My first driving lesson was on a tractor and an occassional means of transportation to school was a horse. We had plenty of "chores" to do as mom couldn't do everything!! We took care of the garden, fed the chickens and generally stayed out of her way. We made our beds, set the table and washed the dishes. She cooked everything, fresh from our garden. Even in winter, we had fresh food that came from the mason jars she spent the fall filling: peaches, tomatoes, carrots, green beans, corn, onions, apples, and sour rhubarb. She warmed up the entire house cooking on a cast iron wood stove in the kitchen. It produced the best cakes and pies and breads ever. I am still taken back there when I smell fresh bread baking.