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The pipes in the old farmhouse thawed. We could finally do dishes and laundry again. The heater caught up with the drafts and we reached above the shivering-while-still-inside point. The dogs actually went outside voluntarily again. And so did we.
Three miles away, to forty acres so remote you have to drive through three creeks one direction or ford a river in the other, to the top of a hill….
This is my happy place.
Behold the new farmhouse, for it is filled with insulation!!!!

And yet it taunts me with its not-quite-doneness.
Posted by Suzanne McMinn | Permalink
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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....
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