The Old Shop, with its proud history as a regional hub for my great uncles as wheelwrights, blacksmiths, mechanics, machinists, steam engineers, and gas attendants, is anything but just an aging vernacular building on a hot summer evening when the skies take on a thick Renaissance appeal. Time slowed as I paused (for much longer than I had thought) on my nightly walk. Perhaps time stood still. And my uncles glanced up from their tasks with greasy hands, smudged glasses, and hearts open to the skies, as they toiled, over a hundred years before.