For a while, I could see my great grandparents old homestead on Google Street. Then one year it was no longer there, a melancholy reminder of how time marches on.

The old garage building was still there though, at least, to spark memories of the attached livestock pen, feed bags, puppies, a forever-parked MGB, and the time I stepped in oil in huarache sandals, ruining the sandals and the rest of my day from the yucky feeling and the worry of getting in trouble about it from my dad.