Did you ever have one of those moments? One of those times when you see, smell or hear something that strikes up a memory of a thing or a time that you thought was long forgotten. Just a normal innocent activity that takes you into the past and to places you have tucked away in the folds of your life's history.

I had that experience recently when I was pinching the ends off string beans. Yes string beans.Many years ago as a kid my aunt and uncle lived in a small town in southwestern Vermont. Their property was a few hundred acres that ran up the side of a mountain, it included an apple orchard, frog pond, pastures and a large vegetable garden. There were barns and out buildings and a huge old farmhouse complete with a well in the cellar and floors that sloped so much you could roll out of bed.In my mind's eye I clearly saw my grandmother sitting in a rocking chair, on the back porch pinching the ends off the string beans plucked fresh from the garden and letting them drop onto her aproned lap.That one memory leads to many others, the big black horse whose name I admit I have forgotten, or the little brown one with a white spot on her forehead named Star. There was rhubarb planted behind the tractor shed and stashes of old bottles up in the orchard where a family dumped their trash a hundred years ago.Sometimes when we would visit there would be a bull in the field off to the left side of the barn, and I remember was being scared to death of the giant black beast.I clearly remember one sunny afternoon, with kitchen strainers in hand my aunt sent us up to the little muddy frog pond to catch frogs. It was so much fun flopping around in the cool muddy water after stuffing our faces with blackberries on the way to the pond. Little did I know at the time that I was helping to ensnare dinner. I don't remember what I ate for dinner that night, but I know what I did not.There was a swimming hole off the side of the road somewhere that my aunt would drive to and we would jump from the rocky cliffs into the deep, icy water. We would emerge from the water, our lips blue, only to climb back up and do it all over again.I also loved visiting my uncle's dairy farm over the border in New York where, if we were lucky we would get to drive the cows across the road, usually in our bare feet. I remember the smell of the corn and feed that would be shoveled into the trough for the cows.Oh and do I remember that sweet scent of the hay in the barn when the sun was streaking through the broken slats of the walls, dust and bits of hay dancing in the beams. My cousin Sally and I would lie back, chewing on a stalk of hay and make up fantastic stories about all sorts of wonderful places we would travel to and people we would meet along the way.Days were spent climbing apple trees, riding horses, or hiking up the mountain for a picnic lunch. The morning brought us warm, fresh milk straight from the pasteurizer in my aunt's pantry poured over our cereal.I wouldn't trade these memories for anything. These were some of the best times of my life. The memories are still vivid. I can still savor the smells, the sounds and the sights.So many of our family members are gone, lost to age mostly, but they are still vibrant in my mind and they are brightest when I sit and remember the wonderful visits to Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Bob's farm.