I am not sure when he did it but dad made a little rocking horse for me. It was wooden and painted white with a black main and in my mind it could fly like the wind as I rocked back and forth. I spent hours on my horse was really able to get that horse rockin. I would lean back with all my might and have my horse tilting back to the point that we were all but toppling backwards onto the floor then with a jolt I’d fling myself forward as if I were racing down the country side then leaning back again I’d rock back gathering all my strength and rocket forward again over and over. I would scoot across the living room, down the hall and into the kitchen around the table and back again. My imagination was ever leading me up and down the paths and fields of grandpa’s farm. I loved going to the farm in Wellington where I’d ride behind my dad on a palomino named Devil as we explored the places on the farm that I was not allowed to go alone. I was in heaven spending that time with my dad. 

On Lois’ 7^th birthday I decided that as a mature 8 year old that I was getting too old for my old friend the rocking horse, so with much fan fair on my part I wrapped it up in a blanket and that evening when we were exchanging gifts I dragged it down the hall and presented it to her. I felt as if I was giving her the most magnanimous gift that she could ever receive and she was thrilled. That rocking horse was handed down to each of my siblings and was a part of our home for as long as I can remember.