After helping Maggie out of the driver’s side, Sam walked around the front of the car and extended his hand to me. His hand felt like old worn leather. He was African American and looked to be in his seventies, but he was fit and strong.

As I was shaking Sam’s hand, I said, “Yes, I’m Jim. Thanks for the welcome, Sam. We’re really looking forward to a relaxing weekend here. How long have you been caretaking the farm?”

“Oh,” Sam said with a quick laugh, “I was born on this farm.”

We both laughed together when I said, “Oh, then you must know your way around the place pretty well!”

Sam helped us unload and get our things into the house. Then as he was letting himself out, he said, “If there’s anything you need, me and Strider, we live over behind the grove of big oak trees around back. You can find the house from the back porch by spotting the old windmill. My place is right near the old windmill tower. You can’t miss it, just a few hundred feet from the back of the main house.”