We had finally arrived at the old farmhouse in the dark with torrential rain a night or two before. The rain had flooded the crops and roads. We were trapped; stuck at the farm. Once the rain let up for a bit, my brother and sisters and I began exploring the soggy place. It had been handed down through the generations to the guy who was renting it to us for our vacation. In the cold, foggy, wet atmosphere, everything seemed eerily magical. How long ago must this silo have been pivotal to the harvest in full swing? Now it’s just home to some old farm junk and visited by ground hogs and starry eyed millennials.