This, my friends, is where the real magic happened. North Barn, South Barn, Corn Crib--proper nouns for proper locations (and coincidentally the boundaries for the Easter basket hunt). Wide-planked wood over a muddy crick. Smells of drying corn cobs and silage and animals ("Smells like money," Dad always said). Green as far as they eye could see, and blue sky even farther than that. This isn't just a farm in Iowa. This is Home.