Looking out my Backdoor: Life before the wood pulp industry

I’m not the least bit enamored with “the good ol’ days,” which, to my mind, were rather rugged. Hard, one might say. I suppose every age is hard in its own way.

You might think I’m crazy and perhaps you are right.

A few months ago I was standing over the ironing board, dealing with the aftermath of cotton clothing sun-dried on the clothesline, letting all kinds of thoughts ramble through my mind when it seemed as if some of my notions coalesced into a decision without consulting me.

The consultation part of my decision came along gradually, a bit at a time, another aftermath....