This was the house my Dad was born in, in 1923. My grandfather would stack fire wood outside these windows and the wood kept disappearing. So he took a piece of the wood and drilled a hole in it and filled it with gunpowder. In a few days, his neighbor stopped by to borrow the wagon because his stove had "blown" up! And he needed to go get a new one. Needless to say, no more stolen wood. We buried my Dad yesterday, but I will always have wonderful stories like this to remember him by.
Patty W Dasher
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