These photos may not look like much, but they are the heart and soul of our recent trip to Twillingate. <br /> Many years ago, having a meal at Dave's parents, Harold, my father-in-law, would tell tales of his boyhood home and family life in Newfoundland. Stories about skiing down backyard mountain slopes, of climbing over snow-laden telegraph wires on the way to school, of athletic records he held at his high school (&quot;yeh the broad jump&quot; his brother Bob once quipped). It's been a long time since Harold and Bob sold their parents home in Twillingate. They presumed it had been demolished and that the land was worth more than the home to the buyer.<br /> But the house still stands. Dave knocked on the new owner's door and asked if we could see inside, Paul (owner) lives in a modern home on the lot next door. They talked about an old shed that had existed on the property, with Dave reflecting on a memory of his Dad's skis being kept in the long-gone shed. Once inside the house, which had been stripped down to the wood, we took photos of layers of old wallpaper, and of faux-oak painted doors. The cabinetry had been ripped out, but in the kitchen, Dave pointed to the place where his grandfather had given him a pocket-knife as a little boy. We laughed and looked around in wonderment - me trying to imagine how it had once been, and Dave with the living truth of it. And then he saw them, in the corner, with an assortment of wood planks. The skis. Harold's skis. The ones he flew down backyard mountains on. The ones now in our van. Thank you Paul. And thank you Harold, for tall-tales becoming reality.<br /> <br /> By Amanda M. Roberts<br /> sending further photos through your &quot;photo submit&quot; as only one is permitted here.<br /> Pic attached is of Harold Roberts and his son David, after we brought the skis from Newfoundland to his back garden in Cambridge Ontario, October 2020.   Submitted By: Amanda Roberts