Sometimes You Can Go Home Again

But it's someone else's home now.

My brother and his lovely bride just got back from a trip to good ol' Maryland. It was, I believe, partly to see old friends and partly a tour of my brother's old haunts. One of the places they visited was Elkshire, the farm on which he and I and our sister grew up. Our parents started building it when I was in kindergarten. I remember being dropped off by the school bus at a neighboring farm and walking across the fields (nearly half a mile) to where they were working on the barn. The barn was built first, because, "hay," you needed somewhere to keep the animal feed.
[pauses for groans to die down]
While my parents built the house, we had a mobile home parked under the eves of the barn and my siblings and I slept there while my parents slept in the hayloft. I am quite sure they were thrilled to get a little peace and quiet. There were, of course, wonderful hijinks, like my two-year-old sister climbing up the ladder and joining my parents where they were working on the roof. (Now she has her own little heart-attack generator, muahahahaha!)
My parents moved away when the neighbors started getting too close (like a 1/4 mile away). They tried to make sure that they sold it to a) NOT a developer and b) someone who would appreciate it like we did. They found a couple like that. The husband is a woodworker and the wife keeps horses. It was the perfect place for them. That was after my sister had graduated from college. So, we were there a long time. There are a lot of memories there.

My brother, after he got back from the trip, kindly posted pictures and descriptions. If you'd like to see where I grew up, but kinda not, feel free to check it out.