
There was once a time when the world did not rush quite so fast. A time when the act of reaching out to someone meant more than tapping on a screen or making a quick phone call. It meant gathering your thoughts, sitting down at a sturdy wooden desk or perhaps the kitchen table, and
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When Dorothy Lane was a newly married woman in the late 1950s, she joined a quilting circle at her church in rural Kentucky. Every Thursday afternoon, she and a dozen other women would gather in the basement hall, spreading out a half-finished quilt across wooden frames while coffee percolated in the corner. “We didn’t just
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When Helen Parker was a young girl in the early 1940s, her small town in Illinois buzzed with an unusual energy. World War II was underway, and her father had gone overseas to fight. At home, her mother and neighbors worked the soil behind their modest clapboard house, planting rows of carrots, beans, and tomatoes.
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When James “Jim” Whitaker was a boy in the 1950s, the smell of bread baking in his mother’s kitchen was as familiar as the sound of the morning rooster on his family’s small farm in Indiana. “You didn’t need an alarm clock,” Jim, now 78, says with a chuckle. “The smell of yeast rising and
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When Margaret “Maggie” Rowland was a young girl in the 1940s, her grandmother would sit by the fireplace in a small farmhouse in rural Ohio, a basket of yarn by her feet, her hands moving with quiet determination as she crocheted row after row of a blanket that would later keep the family warm through
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