The morning's peace and quiet is shattered by my (suspected) Coonhound-mix Pippin howl-barking and lunging at the living room window.
The log cabin, dimly lit by oil lamps and a few small windows, bustles with activity: girls dressed in matching aprons and bonnets (and a few boys, definitely not in aprons and bonnets) kneading bread dough, churning cream and grinding corn.
When Brett and I moved to the country two decades ago, we envisioned having a sunny little orchard where we would harvest bushels of apples, pears and other delicious tree treasure each year.
I’m sorry to have been out of touch for so long, but several weeks ago my husband and I decided to unplug from our computers, TV and coffee-maker (oh, the agony) to embark on an off-farm backpacking adventure.
