Charles Foster my great, great, great grandfather (yes, he was that great) suffered a childhood of chilling abuse. And here stands his house. What a foundation for a family of storytellers.
This is our family home. The family that runs in my blood through my mother’s side of the tree. Curses and gifts intermingle, don’t they? When I looked upon this house I knew I was home. I could have stayed for hours listening to the spirits moving the tall grass. I could have stayed for days seeing out of the corner of my eye a young, strong Charles Foster building this house for his mother.
If I’m remembering right, the curse was liquor. Daniel Foster was a cooper (barrel- maker) who couldn’t support his family. By the time Charles was six (in 1815) he was sent off to live and work for others, first a Mr. Clemens–the idea was…
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