My mother was born in that house and her mother before her. If you were to stand on the front porch you would have a beautiful view down over the valley. Mom used to tell us that she could remember being a little girl sitting on that porch with a spoon and a turnip, scraping and eating the flesh of the turnip with the spoon. Tales too of colored Easter Eggs, hidden amongst the grass around its foundation. I remember going there once to visit one of my mother's cousins with her. The kitchen was a step down from the back entry way. It is a dim memory and I wish I remembered more.
The progeny of Abel Beals is dotted all over this Valley, and that is only one line. I have indigenous lines that intermingle with it and German lines, Scottish, English, Acadian as well. I guess that makes me a Canadian through and through!
There are worse things I could be. 😄
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And I do too!