The gristmill that sits next to my apartment started running in the 1830s. When my landlord, Ed, bought the property in the 1970s, he knew he'd always have a project at his fingertips.
This summer, Ed's working on rebuilding the mill foundation.
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It was quite a project. After it was done, we took group pictures and then retreated to the porch for some sangria.

Watching all the rebuilding makes me think of the history of this place. We talk about all the meals that were once cooked in our outdoor fireplace. The old rusty horseshoes scattered in the woods carry images of farmers lugging their corn to the mill. We wonder if weary soldiers camped out by the pond on their way to another battle.
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It's funny that we're a part of this place for such a small moment in time.
It'll be a part of us forever.
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