"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....
whaledancer says:
It seems ironic, since it’s the time of year when marching is most difficult.
On March 7, 2013 at 3:58 pm
bonita says:
Ahh whaledancer, my thought exactly…How can one MARCH in that mess. Looks like it would suck the boots right off your feet.
On March 7, 2013 at 4:07 pm
brookdale says:
Ah yes…the muds of March!
On March 7, 2013 at 8:23 pm
Luann says:
Looks like my farm.
On March 8, 2013 at 11:03 am
cabynfevr says:
I didn’t think it could get worse than that but it did… try over a foot of snow on top of the mud. UGH! What a mess 😕 😕
On March 8, 2013 at 11:05 am