The obvious answer as to an audience is one's family. Yes, this is written for my family. But not only the family. Maybe the oddity of the conjunction of my two interests, farming and classical literature, is the reason for describing the way I went. I rather doubt it, for so odd it isn't, though a little unusual. Maybe the book is due to a warmth of feeling for the two professions, some perhaps misguided zeal for two causes not very high on the world's popularity list. That's nearer it I think. Or maybe it's just a rechewing of the joys of the past, and sometime their opposites. I know that many people believe in the genuine isolation of the past: let it bury its own dead, its successes, its failures; continuity is the supreme illusion. I have never been able to see it like that.