The farm I grew up on in Stillwater, Minnesota, was the center of my universe from the time I was born until my grandparents sold it when I was 13.  Development was getting too close to them – they bought another farm about 40 miles deeper into the northern countryside.  This change coincided with the natural break that came for me as I shuffled off childhood and entered teen turbulence.

The origins of the farmhouse were from before Minnesota became a state in the 1850s.  One of the first farmsteads in the St. Croix River Valley, the farm perched atop one of the highest hills around Stillwater.  From the front porch, I could see for miles across the valley, with Lake McKusick down below to the tree tops miles away above the St. Croix River.  A long, steep drive led from the winding country road – an extension of Stillwater’s…