As I wiped away tears of joy, I thought about my puny self so delicately displaying things that would decay and be a little value to others, about my grandparents on the brutal plains of North Dakota, long since passed away; their tragic beautiful love story. How as a girl I would visit the homestead and listen to the wind whip through ravaged structures while I strained to see into the past. We attribute little import to those people/stories we don't know, yet still - it happened.