I grew up in New England, in an old-style farmhouse built sometime in the late 30s. It was a fairly average house in most respects, settled down a country lane lined with aspens, birches, and ancient apple orchards, with fields and white fences beyond and the sea some distance away, blue on the horizon. The house was white, with many windows and a stone chimney, and the barn a crisp red against the green of the pastures. The neighbors were few, the miles to town many, and the secret niches and hollows in the forests abundant.
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