One more quick grandfather story and I'm off to Maryville for a ball game:
In the box of my grandfather's stuff I found a poem that he wrote in March of 1961. He was past 90 but still walking three miles a day for exercise. Cold or wet weather never really bothered him, but in ugly weather, people were always stopping to offer him a ride. 1961 was a long hard winter in West Virginia. He wrote:

"Don't pity the poor old hiker
In the ice and sleet and rain,
For just beyound the snowdrift
Spring will come again.

"Don't pity the poor old hiker
For joy his heart doth fill
For there's a teacup and a welcome
In the mansion on the hill."

He was an avid tea drinker, and he sometimes referred to heaven as the, "Mansion on the hill." He lived 97 years, partly because hiking kept him in good condition."
Howard