Looking at this photo you might see dirty old chairs, dusty old bottles and a hutch that is beyond it's years.  For me this picture tells a story of my past, my roots, and my heritage.  These dusty items live whithin the beams of  a log cabin that was built with my father's hands and imagination.  The logs were taken from our land on 89 Big Moose Road where I grew up as a young girl full of spirit, with the freedom to play.  The stacked chairs with the peeling, stripped wood are from the Astorville arena where my father was the rink manager and I played endlessly, running through the halls, skating and playing ringette. One distinct memory is a PD day where I had the whole hockey rink to myself. The day was spent skating, spinning and twirling, and pretending that the stands were full of a mesmorized audience.  In my mind's eye, I was the star.  The old bottles on the hutch were found on a family mobile home trip to New Brunswick, where my father grew up. Yes he is acadian.  I have a vivid memory of being with him in the backyard of his old childhood home in Bathurst digging up the earth to find old bottles. Our collection came home with us and lives in this old log cabin.  Photographs are like this log cabin preserving memories. They are more than just people, places and things standing in time, they give us stirrings of the past.