When I moved to Minneapolis, nearly twenty years ago now, I had trouble driving long distances, so my father drove up with me. He did actually did most of the driving, and most of the talking. Maybe because we were heading towards Iowa, we got on the subject of his boyhood there. He was an amazing story teller (much better than I am), brilliant and animated and funny. I was spellbound and delighted morning to evening with stories of growing up in his uncle's farm, how he lost hearing in one ear from frostbite, every job he ever held, how he got his nickname (Trapper), and so many others. It was three days I will never forget, and always treasure.