My first impression of the farmhouse was awe. It was a refreshing paradox from what we had left behind. A worn, old, brick dwelling sat majestically on four acres of sun-bathed grass, framed by untamed woods just waiting to be explored. Dragonflies floated through the hot summer air. We walked inside—and did a double take. The interior of the house didn’t quite fit with the wild splendor of the yard. The house had been branded a teardown, and we children could see why. My little brother found one thing he liked: the powder blue “softy” rug, as he called it. The unusual level of plushness was likely due to the layer of thick, white mold resting serenely atop. Outside, the mysteriously, beautifully spreading woods were found to conceal venomous serpents in large numbers. After several close calls, further exploration was halted by Mom. It definitely wasn’t a regular home; were …