The house I grew up in and I are disintegrating at about the same rate. Actually the old house may be even more wrecked than me but its dilapidation is far more interesting to behold.
To me it is beautiful here, where I grew up, just as it is: overgrown, collapsing, old timber and stucco buildings reverting to woods. The welcome wagon meets us on the road and then we just walk around and listen to our young voices echoing through the treetops.
Ah yes, time for another round of sentimental musings about my old home. And many photos. For this round of visits, instead of waxing lyrical over mom’s apple pies and the cries of loons on the lakeshore, and rehashing which of my introverted traits can be attributed to north woods isolation, I’ll talk about our land. My grandfather, Torgus Neset, purchased 160 acres of timber, swamp and small meadows sometime between 1910… Read More