My Turn: The call of our first house
Photo credit: Handout | The writer’s daughter, Beth, in 1979 in their beloved first house. They felt the house didn’t want them to move.
Our first house always felt as if it was alive, as if it was a member of our family. When we were home, the walls surrounded us like a womb, keeping us safe and warm. My kitchen fed us. In the three bedrooms, we rested our minds and bodies. If our house was alive, its heart most certainly would have been the living room's free-standing fireplace. The steady, glowing energy of its winter fires had...
