By the time I had finished the painting, I was standing in the sun, the farmer's grandson was unloading haybales, and the farmer, who had visited on his four-wheeler, had departed. He said that on this grassy spot had stood a house, demolished fifty or sixty years ago. Next to the milk shed in the painting used to be a large barn, which burned down some years back. Even in the country, things are never the same.
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