By contrast, David Jackson was a reasonably well-known animal and landscape painter when we bought his oil of red autumn trees, an orange hill and the not fully melted first slush of the season (with central white house and 2 chimneys). This was Pam’s choice of paintings—but I could imagine myself as a child sitting on the wooden board floor of the upper left side of the white house, reading and eating boiled ham and potato chips as the hours, quitet thoughtful hours of childhood, passed.