xxviii

28. I kind of can’t believe I’m actually 28 now, even though for some odd reason I’ve felt 28 all year. Now that I am, I’ll probably start thinking I’m 23 or something. ‘Course. But here I am, finally, at the halfway point between the start of this blog and the day I turn 30: Still…

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ghosts.

You’re alone in a 170-year-old farmhouse located in the midst of a 65 acre property on the edge of Williamson County. Cleaning, mopping, dusting, folding, organizing and exploring. You never know what you’ll find when you open the next drawer – treasured sterling silver cutlery? Coffee filters? Quilts? Spiders? Obviously some surprises are far better…

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