grizzzlyjoe. I remember when I first got to Alabama I talked to an old gentleman farmer. He told me how he used to plow his garden with a mule and put the baby in the cavity of a hollow tree while he worked. As we talked, there was the hollow tree still and son Charlie lived up the road with his own family. How many times had the grand children heard the story of that hollow tree as they helped their grandfather plant, tend, and harvest whatever grew in that garden.
Do they remember, yes they do, in their inner most being.
