Photo Source: Pixabay The surface of the rain barrel used to bounce summer light from the morning sun into will-o’-wisps in the shadowy corner of the house. The venik, always reeking of pine and eucalyptus, now smelled of dirty sticks and barely held together. The old house that my grandparents used to live in before I was born was always a solid, imposing cottage, frozen in time. But I could see that over the years it seemed to lean further and further, threatening the patch of potatoes...