The winter of ’54 was very cold and blustery in Southington, Conn. We were nearly buried in snow. Sliding (sledding) and ice skating were nearly impossible, and the town’s children didn‘t get to play much that particular winter. I was a wee lad of 13.
The town of Southington owned and operated the “Town Farm,” a place for homeless old men who could get room and board free if they did work on an actual, small farm next to the square, brick building that housed them.
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