I remember I was hammering on a fence in the west pasture when Papa approached. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried.I continued to hammer as he came toward me. “Son,” he said, “why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it.”“Oh, I’m not using nails, Papa,” I replied. “I’m just hammering.” With that, I returned to my hammering.
Papa asked me to …