Wooden-slatted high ceilings and nothing readily edible in the refrigerator: powdered milk in a can, prune juice, green tea extract in a tiny eye-dropper bottle, oddly-colored eggs strictly from their own chickens in a coop in the backyard near a patch of underbrush.
Down the freezing-cold travertine tile in the hallway beyond the giant deer mural plastered onto an entire wall in the living room, right past a hulking black iron wood furnace lurking in its dark space between the wall remains a door that remains constantly locked. Inside the room is an archaic computer and a modem that stays unplugged until She needs to Skype conference call with her four other siblings once a month. The only web browser on the desktop is Firefox. When asked why, and why don't they upgrade to Chrome, you are only responded to with,
"The government monitors you through all the other browsers. Satan is on the prowl, stalking the earth like a lion for his prey."