My mom remembers huddling in it with her 9 siblings during crazy Kansas storms.
I remember hesitantly descending the cement steps into the musky damp to retrieve one of hundreds (it seemed) of jars of canned pears.
And then there’s this.
Just like the generation before him, all 34 of us, running up and down the cellar and sliding down its sides is a rite of passage. Pounding feet echoing on the heavy metal door. Cold cement a slippery slope.
Simple farm fun, a Finer Thing generation after generation.
What Finer Things are you celebrating this week? Link up and let us know!