My spouse whisked me away to his quaint hometown to introduce me to his parents! The moment I laid eyes on his mother, I was utterly PETRIFIED—and what unfolded next left me completely STUNNED….

“Half an hour later, she’s cussing up a storm—turns out she’s allergic to bee venom. Legs swelled up like stumps, couldn’t walk at all.”

“How was I supposed to know?” George shrugged. “Emily, eat the honey, you’re not allergic, right?”

“Nope, George.” “Good, thank the Lord.”

We finished our tea. Outside, it was dark, and the kerosene lamp made the house cozier.

Exhaustion hit me. Clara pulled the curtains shut.

“Billy, where should I make your bed?” “Ma, can we sleep by the stove?” my husband asked.

“You okay with that, Emily?” “Absolutely!” I nodded.

“Pops built this beauty brick by brick,” Clara boasted. George looked proud—and he had every reason.

The stove warms, feeds, and gathers the family. A bright, life-giving fire burns inside.

We thanked our hosts and got up. William, playfully swatting my backside, helped me climb onto the stove.

From the darkness of the sleeping nook, a rich scent hit me, steeped over years: fire-baked brick, dried herbs, wool blankets, fresh bread. William fell asleep fast, snoring softly, but sleep wouldn’t come to me.

Something was breathing loudly to my right: puff-pant, puff-pant. “Must be a house spirit,” I thought, recalling a childhood rhyme: “House spirit, house spirit, we don’t mess with you.”.

In the morning, I learned the truth: it wasn’t anything supernatural. It was dough Clara had left to rise in a warm spot and forgotten.

We’ll visit this welcoming home again to hear more of George’s tales, warm up by the stove, and eat homemade bread with a crispy crust.

But that’s a story for another time.