There was a beautiful two story log and stone home in Berea, KY, the town I grew up in, that I coveted so badly as a teenager. It was just under 100 years old and the land it sat on was bordered by split rails, forsythia and quince which was so beautiful in the spring with the abundance of yellow from the forsythia intermingled with the red of the quince. I always dreamed of buying that house and was devastated when some one bought it, promptly tore it down, and built a gas station. I fail…