I don't know how old Papa Nelson was here- I was probably in high school. He was one tough man, raised seven kids, all their food, ran a dairy farm after the war. I didn't know our initials were the same (RMN) until I saw his tombstone as I helped carry his casket out of the church and down to the adjoining graveyard.
One of the many things I admire about Wally is that he plays his wooden flutes in the most beautiful places. This was in the Shining Rock Wilderness in the Smoky Mountains. After we sold my folks' house, a place that held many good memories for him, he played his flute as a parting benediction as he and I stood in their driveway for the last time. Talk about poignant- thanks for that, Wally!
We tied up for the night at a tiny cove called God's Pocket, an international destination for cold-water divers. I had brought a bottle of wine to toast Amy on the night she matriculated from grad school- I explained to the gathering, and there was a hearty round of Cheers! to Amy. God's Pocket website- http://www.godspocket.com/home.1.html