I misplaced my trailer keys and had to go 3 hours out of my way to where Robin, my out-law son, the lyric poet, was spraying oil paint to restore a ranch style farm home after a fire. He lent me his set of keys. At the time I didn't know what I was doing when I asked him if I could get a photograph with his respirator and mask before the fresh green fields of Southern Ontario.

Getting there is half the fun and the keys were a good excuse to drop in on Rob in farm country using the latitude-longitude coordinates he gave me. It seemed like a better time than driving the freeways back to Toronto to search for my own set, also about 3 hours round trip.