Inside, Mari, her sister, Bonnie, and a cousin, Jane, wrote their names in pencil on the wall to the right. Only if you know to look can you find the place where the stilt-like letters have left shadows.
When Mari's dad, Parnell, sold the farm and moved into the town of Lake Mills, he took the playhouse with him, and it became a yard-tool shed, on runners. And when Parnell died, we drove to Lake Mills, with Per from Lillehammer, and found a way to get the play house up onto a big trailer.
It is a well traveled playhouse. I gave it new runners, a graveled base to sit upon, and a front deck. I think it may never travel, again. But poor thing! Its responsibilities, at our log house, are few, but few as they are, it deserved better than it had gotten.
Patti and Mari schemed an overnight trip to the log house, and informed their respective husbands that we were going to paint the playhouse. Their respective husbands amassed the necessary tools and beverages, and there we were, beating back the Virginia Creeper, scraping what appeared to be a sixty-year old paint job, and disguising, as best we could, what times does to us all!
We did a pretty good job! Not shy, we chose colors from the log house itself--colors earlier stolen from something Scandinavian--and prettied the Old Lady on about her 60th year.
We are available for quality restoration work. All we need is time to get the necessary tools and beverages together. Our work is guaranteed, for the life of the paint.
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