Dating : The Invitation

Gram died, leaving us with eighty-three years of junk to sort through. To her, everything in the old barn wasn’t junk. It was memories. It was life encapsulated in old furniture, books, old toys, and paper. So much paper. I’ll never understand the greatest generation’s obsession with paper.

The faded gray barn sat on a patch of red dirt behind the whitewashed farmhouse. Gram’s dad had built the house and adjoining barn when he arrived…