I ran across a faded photo of the house where I grew up and decided to paint my memory of it. It is getting close to being finished. I am having fun painting my memory... the tree that I can still remember where to put my hands and which leg goes over which branch in order to climb it, the winding pathway to the dirt road that lead through the corn patch down to the river, and the tall mountain that we loved to climb across the street. There was a spring that came right out of the bottom of that hill. I used to take a little cup, climb under the barbed wire fence and fill my cup with the freshest, coldest, best water I have ever tasted.
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