I was driving home from my mom’s old house after packing the last box of her sweaters. The day had already been long and emotional, and the road ahead felt just as heavy as the one behind me.
Then I saw the sign.
It was simple—hand-painted red letters on a crooked wooden board:
“FARM SALE – TODAY ONLY.”
Something about it made me pull over before I even realized I was doing it. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was a need for distraction. Or maybe it was just the kind of moment where you follow your instinct, unsure why, but hoping it leads to something lighter.
I turned off the engine and stepped out into the warm summer air. Just past a hill, the farmhouse came into view—weathered and welcoming, with folding tables scattered across the lawn. There were boxes of old books, mismatched dishes, worn tools, and sun-faded records. Everything looked like it had a story to tell.
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