This farm was nestled in the hills in a small town in NH. We pulled down the long dusty road, following behind my father's white ford pick up.
He went to the door and I heard him introduce himself to the man who answered. "It's me, Robbie!"
My father had known the farmer all his life, such was the way in a small town. And he had even worked for him for several years in his "sugar house" helping to make the maple syrup. They chatted about old times, caught up for a bit, my dad stocked up on maple syrup and we were on our way.
This was the back door to the farm house. Note the date of 1856. The farmer said that his grandmother had bought all the farm property (acres and acres) for $1500 way back when.
Hi friend! Listen,if you have the perfect get-up for mrs peacock..you take her.I only took her because she is the oldest one in the bunch...as am I.lol.But I will tart myself up to be miss scarlet!
