From the age of 5 until I graduated high school, I lived in the same house. A farmhouse with a wrap around porch and a big garden in the back yard. It wasn’t a fancy home, but it was where my parents raised myself and my fourteen siblings. My father built our home and as the adage goes, a builders house is never finished, so there were always little projects that never seemed to be finished. Despite that, our home was truly lived in. We’d watch spring storms roll in from the porch. The basement cold cellar would be filled with canned goods from the garden each summer. And in the winter, a wood stove kept us warm. Over the years, the house saw many children grow up and eventually, leave the n

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