Rolling Hills: Vignettes of a Life in Ohio

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The old farmhouse where I was born in the early morning hours of Wednesday, September 27, 1933, at 12:30 a.m., stood firm for 130 years until the summer of 2019, when it was razed to make way for a new, smaller, modern structure. The old house, which I knew so well, continues to be quite visible on the memory screen of my still-viable mind. In the following pages, I will share some of that structure’s uniqueness. It was more than a place just to live and grow. It was where I first learned what it means to be part of a family, part of a family that works together, cares for each other, and knows what it is to be a responsible human being. I may not have always followed what I knew was right, but I did not flout those early teachings with impunity.