We sat under this tree as a little storm rolled through, the first day I saw the farm. Trees represent a passage of time, bearing witness to our coming and going. I remember special trees from every home in my life. My first swing was in a cottonwood tree and my sister Reta would push me as I sang songs I’d heard her sing. The next was in a mighty post oak that overlooked our vegetable garden. I spent my summers in that swing, deciding to teach myself to ride a bike and capturing creatures from the garden. On this day, I sat and listened to the pitter of light rain in the leaves of this sugarberry and felt the sweet familiar stir of home again. Home has been many places, and people in my life. Amo Farm is a path back home, where I hear the bob white’s call, and catch three toed box turtles wandering through my garden. A way back home for me and my boys. On 10/28/24 we officially bought the farm. Later realizing it was the anniversary of my parents passing, each of them, 5 years apart. We will plant our first trees this October.