If the walls could talk..

                                                 
This is where I grew up. If these walls could talk they would tell you about how they were built by five children a father and many friends.

They would tell you about the wrestling matches and holes it would endure over the years, how it was always a bed and breakfast for anybody that needed a place to stay, how it was a combat zone,home to all our friends, a fort and even a  meat packaging plant,( the mighty hunter would butcher his deer while us kids would package it on a picnic table in our kitchen).

They would tell you about how the brothers hunted squirrels, camped in the yard, played Army and had rock fights (all in the name of fun of course).

They would tell you about the many chores. To name a few, picking up rocks that multiplied faster than the rabbits, tending cows and horses, weeding gardens, plucking the head of thistle plants to prevent them from speading their seed, picking blackberries, canning, and actually touching the electric fence to see if it's still hot. If it wasn't we had to find where the short was by walking the fence line.

They would tell you that sitting around watching t.v. was not an option. They would tell you how my dad used to remove the plug from the t.v. cord and hide it. But later in the evening he would attach it so we could play Atari.  If those walls could talk, I would have asked them where he hide the darn plug.

                    The brothers in their army compound.

                                        
This used to be where our garden was. If the walls could talk they would tell you how I used to complain about having to weed my rows, especially when I wanted to ride my horse.

                                        
If the walls could talk they would tell you how we used to wear milk cartons around our necks while picking blackberries and how we would freeze them on cookies sheets.

                                       
Yeah, if the walls could talk, they would tell you how we watched my dad graft different kinds of apple branches on to his many trees and how they produced the best tasting apples.

                                       
If the walls could talk they would tell you on cold winter days when it was warm and toasty inside, we would have to go out and break the ice in the water trough and fill it with fresh water, only for it to freeze over again.

But most of all, if the walls could talk they would tell you of the love they felt while were were growing up, how our father taught us to work hard, be responsible, have fun and to laugh.