Cycles of being and non-being

When we bought our house in the mid 70’s, one of its charms was the old, well built out-house.  The owners had used it to store hand rolled newspaper ‘logs’, which they burned in the little Ben Franklin pot-belly stove in the house. We replaced the stove with a heat producing Rite-way wood stove, which I still use. The out-house maybe was used infrequently, though never by me. Then it became the sturdy end of a glass-working studio by my son.   And this is what has become of it today:


The Ash tree that is taking it out is still alive, but began to lean a few years ago and hasn’t stopped. It’s somewhat held up by neighboring trees and may just reach the steps to the barn loft, but won’t do any damage, (I hope).  More firewood. More summer sunsets.

I’ve been bitten by the genealogy bug. Perhaps I always had it but now it’s flared up.  This early photo I scanned at Ted’s two years ago.   I had decided they looked like farmers dressed up for the photographer. The hand written label said “The Phelp brothers, I think.” Last week I found the Phelp brothers, relatives of my grandmother’s stepmother, and yes, they all were farmers, in Pontiac, Michigan, in the mid-1800’s.




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