Beginning with my Grandpa Ike in the early 1800's, then with my Pa (also named Ike), they wrote a collection of stories; twelve in all. They didn't give their stories any fancy titles, just Roman numbers; which they preserved in metal cylinders. My Grandpa couldn't write, so his stories were written down by my Pa; and my Pa's stories were written down by me. Well, at least until I was thirteen and was sent to live with my Aunt Molly in Springfield so I could go to school. You see, our cabin was way back in the green mountains that comprised a section of the Appalachians; tucked along the base...

Beginning with the 10th Grade, Walter Jenkins gave his son Tommy and his best friend Danny one fantastic summer adventure, an opportunity to make a photo journal of ghost towns in California and Nevada. And then again in the 11th and 12th grades he surprised them by asking their teacher, Mrs. Hopkins, if she would again assign more "extra credit." After visiting places they never before saw, the boys were eager for discovering new places to enhance their photography hobby. Luckily for both Danny and Tommy, Danny's dad worked as a freelance writer; which allowed him plenty of time to take them...

Ike had been going over several stories to include in his next book when Amy came over and asked "Are you going to publish another book Dad?" Then before he had a chance to reply, her mom walked into the den. I guess she overheard Amy because she said, "And by the way; Rita is here with several of Grandpa Ike's manuscripts that she found at Walter's place upstream from Ike's Cabin. She says there's six or seven more stories you wrote while sitting on a pickle barrel. I am sure you remember. It was during that terrible snow storm on Christmas Eve when the entire hollow was snowbound at Ike's....