The lintel on my door marks the year 1656, a year of pestilence, the year of my construction. I was built of stone and wood, but over time my windows began to see and my eaves to feel.I've seen families grow and trees fall.I heard laughter and gunshots.I have known storms, hammers and saws and, in the end, abandonment. Then, one day, some children ventured up here, looking for mushrooms and chestnuts: I started a new life at the dawn of the modern era.Here is my story, from an old hill, through the twentieth century. Format: Hardback