I have been trying to find a photo of the old house with the snow up to the back porch roof top. This is the best I can do but I do remember one year when it was up to the eaves trough. We didn't go in the door that you see, but around the back. It seemed that it would drift so that there wasn't as much snow that way. We did stay overnight in the winter from time to time. We slept under a huge pile of blankets. You didn't want to get up in the night for anything. My pleasure was staying in bed in the moing while Paul stoked up the fire, banged the door going in and out to the wood shed, put the kettle on and then I could smell the wood fire. That was fun...
but I got to the place where I didn't want to rough it quite so much.
Love, love, love our house,
hot water, (no need to heat it on the stove!)
shower,
heat!
Even a dish washer, which isn't me!
One thing I miss, and only one, and only a bitty bit...
my red stool right next to the wood stove.
I would sit there in my boots, wool sox, long janes, heavy sweater, jacket, scarf
almost on top of the stove and read.
Then, just maybe, I would peal off the layers one by one.
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