By Edward Achorn
Several years ago, I moved from the suburbs to a more rural area of woods and farms. I set up in an 1840s-era house with a barn on five acres of land. Old stone walls run around the property. A river across the street wends its way 11 miles to the sea. Down the road, where an 18th-century mill once stood, is a lovely little waterfall.
At times I am wont to see a doe and fawn in the back yard. Seven years ago, I was visited routinely by a flock of wild turkeys who rooted through the leaves as they made their way from the back to the front lawn (see above).
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