Mr Prowell has this genealogical history so well documented it wears like a pendant around the necks of he and his sisters and their sons and nephews and great nephews and great nieces and cousins and aunts and it’s a lineage they’ve inherited. Obviously. Drawing to the 1680’s maternally and the 1720’s paternally as a North Carolina gentry so landed it might be considered a culture within itself. His aunt and uncle recently donated the family silver– buried deep, from Sherman’s marching army–to a dedicated Silver Heritage museum in Charleston. His luminous maternal ancestor William Tennant founded the new colony’s Presbyterian Church and Princeton University, all of it so well documented in the book Light Into Darkness and elsewhere. They are ministers and farmers, with the farmers wrestling control from the ministers and maintaining control right up until Charles–the last surviving Prowell male–left his beloved Illinois farm for the ludicrous liberalisms of Northern California. The legacy of a tuft of rich black earth held in the weathered leathery palm of a Prowell hand ended right then. The very day he left. And he’s been homesick ever since. Crying himself to sleep. Night after night. Decades. Buckets of tears. And the worst is how Illinois, the Land of Milk n’ Honey, God’s Country, Heaven on Earth, how it has gone on to do just fine without him.

I forgot the question. Could you repeat the question?