My grandfather has his home built outside of town. He and my grandmother have lived most of their lives in town. Maybe they just tire of living in town, not that our town is all that large. I imagine that when he found this spot of land he must have concluded that there was no other place as beautiful to build a home. Weeping willow and quaking aspen trees line the left side of road that leads to his home. There is even a tree that produces plump blueberries in the summertime. There is a rich meadow with tall grass that fat deer can graze on, and then quench their thirst in the stream at the edge of the grass. All fed by a meandering stream of cold clear water that flows from a myriad of bubbling springs high in the “Hills.” On the right side of the road there is solid rock peppered with “fools gold” or iron pyrite that sparkles brightly in the sunlight.
It has been 50 years this month that our home burned along with all the treasures within.
Scott
The old house burned down the year I was born. My mom often talked about that fire. Sometimes I'd ask about certain heirloom things or photographs and she would say, "those burned in the fire".
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