A MAGNIFICENT, old black tobacco barn bids welcome as I drive through the rusty red farm gate draped with Christmas lights (even out-of-season). It moves with difficulty on a squeaky, tread-less wheel and takes both hands to maneuver. The gate slowly opens the way to a quarter-mile-long grass-and-gravel drive that leads to the first dwelling on my Gypsy journey. The tobacco barn is a stately relic of a bygone era. (p59)

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Autumn on the Ridge I: pics and quotes

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