In 1975, when I was 2, my Dad was working on our house. It was a fixer-upper, obviously. An old farmhouse on the top of an impressively steep old country road, miles from the city, it had charm and was rustic to say the least. No running water, no electricity. And, in the case of this picture, no entryway wide enough to bring in the large kitchen island my Dad made for the huge kitchen.
My Mom recalls that Dad removed the plate glass window, which was very thick and heavy, then they together lifted the island through the hole. Amazing. I like to think I can remember this day.