Wood Etching in Porch Swing by Ron Campbell

The year was 1999. When late December came, the reclaimed old house was wall-to-wall with boxes from our haphazard move from Walnut Knob; but we were finally under roof. It would not feel like home for months, but we belonged here, and we would settle in. It held such promise. The contractors–who had been since May like visiting family that just wouldn’t leave–were finally gone for good, mostly. We got down to the business of living here. But there were unaccustomed night noises; we …

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