Every February 28, I think of my grandmother. She's the only grandmother I ever met and she was a humdinger. In her 60s she would go hiking with us grandkids and we would tramp all over the mountain on her farm. I remember her taking me to where the spring that ran through their property came out of the mountain. I've never drank such clean, cold water since.
The view was beautiful from the huge rock that jutted close to the top. My favorite thing was reaching that top. My grandfather planted corn in the field up there. After walking along a path with trees shading the way, dark and cool, to emerge in the field with tall, green stalks waving in the middle with the sun shining down, it was a beautiful sight. Maybe a little bit of a miracle.
Happy 115th Birthday!