Wow, what a beautiful and descriptive story you just wrote. I loved i. The only Mill I have been to is in Gatlinnburg Tennessee. It is quite amazing the mechanics of it all. I grew up in the summers on my Grandfathers farm in a north Louisiana town. He had sheep, which would be sheared, then look so tiny, after they were shaved. He had a two story barn where his Studebaker Nash would hide out in, along with rats of biblical proportions, lol. After his death, and years later all of that is gone, along with his "Big" house, my bicycle trail, his apple trees, and pastures. All of that is covered in concreate and a bank, and some smaller buildings. It was so sad at first. My plan was to graduate college, and buy it all back one day. However, God had other plans for me, and I am good with that. It is still sad to pass his old property, and not to see a porch swing, on the front porch of the "Big House."

I might have to write a poem about that one day.

Speaking of which. I apologize... I think I did not add you to a poem I wrote, about my brother and what he means to me. Titled: https://medium.com/@wireeditornewman/the-brothers-tide-8b77f829f2d6

......... It is titled The Brothers Tide.

Thanks in advance,

Great article above,

AL.