Every once in a while the gas and electric company likes to stop by and read the meter. The meter at Mom's house hadn't been read in a while. I set up an appointment, partly to avoid a surcharge, and planned to spend some time cleaning out the garage today. Murphy's Law would say if I had somewhere to be, the meter-man wouldn't come until the very last minute (or later), but today, since I had hours to waste (ha ha!), he showed up about 15 minutes after I got there.
I am still torn when it comes to our childhood home. One of my sisters said we need to remember that it was the people (Mom and Dad) who made the place special, not the place itself. We aren't selling our memories. Those we keep forever. In spite of those truths, we all get a little teary when we go there. I'm actually relieved to know I'm not the only one. (The photos are a few years old. The yard and gardens are looking a little rough these days.)
Barns in Conewango.
7 hours ago