May 12, 2016
by Sallie Bingham
In the attic of a decrepit garage on the old farm I own in Kentucky, Wolf Pen Mill, piles of old paperbacks were found recently, soggy from a leak in the roof; but in a far corner, a decaying box, covered with a crumpled sheet of brown paper, had not been touched by a single drop.
Inside that box I found dozens of letters, spanning the 1930’s to the 1960’s—only the latest in typescript—one from a husband to a wife, regretting her visit to Horse Cave and admitting that even after six years of marriage, he missed her keenly.
Here also I found letter paper from a business in Frankfort that sold lumber of every description, and hand-drawn geometric images that may have served as patterns for pieces of a quilt.
And much more.
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