Pictures on the mantle. Some black and white. Others colored. Photographs from weddings, anniversaries, baby pictures framed in silver, spanning years, generations of a family. Dad and Granddad, Mom and Grandmother, all lined up. She was beautiful when she was younger. And, he was so dashing. What happens over time?

Wrinkles set in. Circles from years of little sleep form under eyes. The hair is gray.

She remembered when Grandpa died, Dad passed away. She thought about her mom breaking her hip; the beginning of the end. She never knew her grandmother.

Sundays were spent around the table. Bowls of boiled potatoes and baked steaks. Gravy from a pan consisting of milk, butter, and white flour. Mom stirred it while the young daughter pulled on her apron.

The men talked mostly. Discussions about farming and high school football; looked at the girl wishing she was a boy. The farm could use an extra hand. As the years went by, she pulled her weight.

And now all she had were pictures on a mantle. The farm was sold years ago. She’d drive by it every once in a while. Looking out her window at brown stalks, dry fields; a sale sign always in front of the house.

Who would buy it? she thought. Who’d be fool enough to do it? she laughed.

Years later, a housing addition was built on the land. Cookie cutouts of aluminum sided homes with manicured yards and lit Santa Claus at Christmas time. Italian lights in trees.

The old farmhouse was knocked down. A community swimming pool was built there. Kids jumping off high dives and wading in the shallow end. A shower and locker room for boys and girls was now where the red barn once stood. She saw it in her mind. Where she grew up.

You can’t stop progress, she said. You sure can’t.