Because it was that, before my mother died, my father, also, sadly did, and, before him, a myriad of other family members who were related to me, if not in spirit, at least by the ties of blood that bind more tightly than any water, it devolved, after some time, upon me, as the last or latest, so to speak, of my line, to undertake the journey to our ancestral home in Upton, Massachusetts, where it was widely held that the men were men and the women were, in a manner of speaking, too, and that the long parallels of iron that led one to the sorry stop there were, in more ways than one, signfiers of the end of the line.
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