As we return to Barichara, we were invited to visit my fathers childhood home. The look on the faces of his siblings as they entered and experienced so many things that were similar to decades ago were lovely. We continued to view the town, the park named in my uncle’s honor, the little drug store my grandfather owned and supported his family with, the house and the local flavor. The chapel, where my father was baptized, still projects all services over an intercom for the city to hear.