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Many years ago on a serene winter day where a charming green house stands resilient against the chill, I proceeded to take photos. The bare branches of nearby trees stretch skyward, their intricate patterns contrasting beautifully with the soft, white blanket of snow below. A rustic “snow” fence frames the scene, inviting you to imagine the fables held within this tranquil setting. As I was clicking away entranced by the color of the house an older woman, named Rose Mitchell, appeared from the house to gather wood for the fireplace. I asked her if it was all right for me to take pictures and she obliged, telling me there was history connected with the man, Mr. Mitchell, who built the house and lived there for many years, had somehow been the person whom the road was named. As interesting as this seemed to me, I haven’t