Just a few minutes ago, the LaCrosse pulled into the driveway and Der Bingle arrived from Iowa. It was a sad journey for him, going out there to be with his brother as they said goodbye to Jody. But it was also a good trip – one that spoke of family ties and caring.

Last afternoon they barbequed in the late afternoon and then sat out long into the night around the firepit – talking, remembering and watching the flames.

And today Der Bingle drove for about six hours – out of Iowa, through Illinois and a long way across Indiana. He actually passed through farmland my grandparents once owned that is now the Indiana Toll Road. And on the way out on his route from Dayton, he passed just a few miles north of the place where my father grew up and is buried.

He is here now; it has warmed up and the sun is out. Not a bad latter part of the day.

He has a box in his trunk of old photos for us to sort and scan – one is of his grandfather’s family . . . when his grandfather was a boy. Another is of Floyd Akers. That would be Lydia Akers’ father and Lydia was Quentin’s great-grandmother and her maiden name is his middle name.

There are pictures of fellows in the Denver Masonic Lodge through the years. There is a picture of his dad in his high school football uniform.

I don’t know if anyone thought to take a picture of the faces around the fire last night, but it will be in their memories for a long, long time – because “to care and be cared for” is a camera of the heart.