In my continuing quest for the Pulitzer Prize in investigative journalism, I’ve been rambling around country roads again, climbing over banks and tiptoeing behind empty old houses, unearthing the hidden scandals and secret stories of outhouses…..where in this episode I discover…..
….that love means…..
….never having to go alone.
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"It was a cold wintry day when I brought my children to live in rural West Virginia. The farmhouse was one hundred years old, there was already snow on the ground, and the heat was sparse-—as was the insulation. The floors weren’t even, either. My then-twelve-year-old son walked in the door and said, “You’ve brought us to this slanted little house to die." Keep reading our story....
Make friends, ask questions, have fun!
Be a part of something big.
Prints and Free Wallpaper!
"Cookies are good." Read my barnyard stories....
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