In 1951, when I was three years old, my brother, sister, mother and I came to live with my father's parents on their farm in rural Arkansas.  My grandfather was a seventy-seven year old retired teacher/farmer.  My grandmother was sixty-five, twelve years younger than my grandfather.  They had already raised ten children of their own when we arrived.  It was a wonderful place to grow up.  We had freedom, safety, and nurturing.  Every summer my cousins would come to visit.  Some stayed most of the summer. Others came and went, staying for a few weeks.  We all have wonderful memories of our escapades. I recently attended a family reunion and was reminded of all those wonderful carefree days, filled with love and liberty, not possible in today's world.  I promised to write down memories from those days and share them.  Here, dear cousins, are my memories of "Life at Mountain Grove."