This smiling lad is lying at the end of my mother's garden. To make a lawn on their half acre of land, my parents shoveled each foot by hand. The stones were driven to the boarders of the lawn to make a fence or a "yard" my mother would say.
One summer the two of us built a fireplace of stones. My dad did not trust our constructing skills. This fireplace will be down within next spring, he claimed. Well, my stubborn mother has smuggled some concrete in between the stones these 45 years. Each summer we make at least one pot of coffee and some hot dogs there.
(Wo)man's victory against nature.