On a sunny day in 1968, my grandmother was outside on the farm's tractor. My grandfather stood near by holding a camera and then, I imagine, decided to take a picture of his wife. Fifty-four years later I saw this picture in an old photobook stashed away inside this same farm house. Fifty-four years later this picture became a keep sake, hung in a frame decorating the wall of a granddaughter they wouldn't have met for another 26 years. It's odd isn't it. What is it about photographs that make us all so sentimental anyways.