I moved to a broken-down farm I’d just inherited, hoping for peace. But when my neighbor copied my yellow fence, I had no idea it was just the beginning of something much deeper and personal.
I grew up in a foster family that did their best. They were kind and patient, always packed my lunch, and clapped at my school plays, even when I stood in the back wearing a cardboard tree costume.
But real love is more than warm meals and polite claps. It’s… knowing where you come from.
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No one ever told me anything about my biological parents. The papers said they’d asked for complete confidentiality. No names. No birthdays. No stories. Just a blank space where something big should’ve been.
I used to dream that maybe they were spies. Or rock stars. Or lost somewhere in the jungle. Anything was better than the thought that they didn’t care.
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I grew up fast. By 15, I was already handing out flyers outside strip malls.
At 16, I walked dogs for people who barely remembered my name. At 18, I poured coffee for grumpy regulars who tipped in nickels and gave life advice I didn’t ask for.
“You should marry rich, sweetheart. You’ve got kind eyes.”
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By 19, I was an official barista with a crooked name tag and memorized drink orders. Then came more jobs. Caregiver. Mail carrier. Gardener. For a while, I even collected roadkill off the highway.
Don’t ask. No, really—don’t.
I knew how to survive. But it felt like bad luck ran in my DNA.
By 27, I landed my dream office job. A stable paycheck. Weekends off. It felt like winning.
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On the same day, I got sick. Six months of tests, doctors shrugging.
“Could be stress.”
Yeah, no kidding.
At 30, I became a nanny. The other nanny claimed I stole money from the family. I didn’t, but I got fired. I stood outside the building with one suitcase, my emergency fund stuffed in my jacket pocket, and a thousand-yard stare.
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Then my phone rang.
“Ellie? It’s Jake, your father’s attorney,” a warm voice said.
“My who?”
“Your father, Henry. He passed away recently. You’ve been named the sole heir of his farm. It’s about 30 kilometers out of town. You can pick up the keys tomorrow.”
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“A farm?” I repeated. “A father?”
“Biological,” he said gently. “I’ll explain more in person.”
I didn’t sleep a minute that night. I had a father. He left me a home. For the first time in my life, something belonged to me.
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***
When I pulled up to the farm, I sat there for a minute, staring at the house, the fields, the silence. One question circled in my head like a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone.
Why did he leave it to me?
The house looked tired. Chipped paint peeled away from the walls, and weeds covered the yard. But then I saw the barn. It was clean. The red paint was fresh, and the doors were straight and solid. It looked proud.
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Curious, I stepped inside. The scent of hay hit me first. The floor was swept. Neat stacks of hay lined the walls.
A row of fresh eggs sat in a basket like someone had just collected them. A bucket of water glistened in the corner, clean enough to drink.
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And then there were the animals. Chickens clucked softly, pecking the straw. A big brown-and-white cow stood calmly, blinking at me.
The dog was the strangest part. He sat by the door like he’d been waiting for me. His fur was a little shaggy. I crouched.
“Come here, boy…”
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He trotted over and licked my hand like we’d known each other for years.
“Okay, weird,” I said softly, glancing around. “Who’s been feeding you?”
It had been a week since my father had passed away.
So… who’s been taking care of all this? Must’ve been the neighbors.
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I dropped my bag by the door and looked around inside the house. Dust floated through the sunlight like lazy snowflakes.
On the wall hung a single photo. A man in his 50s. His eyes were warm. My chest ached just looking at him—my father.
I sat on the floor and looked around. I didn’t know that man. Didn’t know that farm. But somehow, I wasn’t scared. I stayed.
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***
Each morning, I woke up with a purpose. I fixed the fence, painted the porch, and learned how to collect eggs without getting pecked.
I wasn’t sure how, but I just knew what to do. It was like something inside me had clicked—a secret switch.
“Farmer Mode ON.”
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But just as I started to feel at home, she showed up.
Linda. My neighbor.
At first, I thought she was just shy. Then, I thought she was a little odd.
Then, she… started copying everything I did. That’s when things started to get weird.
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***
“What the…?”
I froze by the kitchen window, a spoonful of cereal halfway to my mouth.
Just the day before, I had painted my fence bright yellow. It was the only can of paint I found in the shed, and I was on a budget. The paint smelled awful, but the fence looked cheerful.
At that moment, staring across the property line, I saw Linda’s fence. It was also yellow, the same shade.
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“Maybe just a coincidence.”
The next day, I built a new mailbox. I was proud of it—wooden, with a tiny sloped roof and a carved little bird sitting on top. It took me all afternoon and three Band-Aids.
I stepped back and said aloud, “You nailed it, Ellie.”
The following morning, I stepped outside… and there it was. Linda’s mailbox. Same shape. Same roof. The exact same bird.
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“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, clutching my coffee cup.
I tried to be polite and waved to Linda when I saw her outside. She never waved back—just scurried into her barn like I’d caught her doing something illegal.
But then came the daisies. They were my favorite. I planted them in a curved line near my front steps.
The next morning?
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Linda had the same daisies. Same curve. The same little row of stones was around them. I walked outside and just stared at her yard.
Is she watching me? Copying me on purpose?
I tried to brush it off until yoga.
One sunny morning, I rolled my mat on the grass and started my usual routine. Just some stretches to loosen up.
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When I looked over, Linda was wobbling in my exact pose.
She was wearing jeans and a floppy hat. She was copying again.
That was it. My patience was gone. I marched across the yard and knocked on her wooden gate.
“Hey, Linda! We need to talk!”
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The door creaked open slowly. She stood there, still, silent. Her dark eyes met mine. Wide. Serious. A little scared.
“Why are you copying everything I do? What do you want from me?!”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped back and nodded slightly.
I followed her into the house. That’s when I saw them.
Letters. Dozens of them. Scattered on the table. All addressed to me.
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“What are these?”
She picked up the top one and handed it to me. Her fingers shook. I opened it.
“My dear Ellie,
I don’t know how to talk to you. I don’t know if you’d even want to listen.
But I am… your mother. I lived near your father. We were never officially divorced, but we lived apart. When you were born, I was… different.
I have autism.
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Life overwhelmed me. Your father decided it would be best if a stable, loving family raised you. But I always knew about you. And when he died, I took care of the farm. And then you came…
I didn’t know how to approach you or how to speak.
So I started doing what you did.
It was my way… of being close.”
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I reread the letter. And again.
“You…” I looked up.
She stood still, barely breathing. I reached for another letter—an older one. A photo fell out. Young Linda was holding a toddler, both smiling.
“Is this…?”
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“That’s my daughter. Ellie.”
“Me?”
“My daughter,” she repeated softly. “You’re Ellie.”
Suddenly… I don’t know why, but… I turned and ran. Back to my yard. Past the daisies. Past the mailbox.
And I cried. I didn’t know how to fix anything, and I didn’t know if I was ready for it.
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***
A few days passed.
I stayed inside. No reading, no coffee, no watering the daisies. I just lay on the couch, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling, hoping they’d spell out something that made sense.
I wasn’t sick. Not in a way any doctor could fix. It was the kind of ache that fills your chest and makes everything feel… weightless and heavy at the same time.
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I thought that knowing the truth would bring peace.
But instead of closure, I found a mother. And somehow, that unraveled me more than all the years I’d spent wondering.
Then, one morning, I opened the front door. A stack of letters—thick envelopes tied with string—sitting quietly on my doorstep.
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I took them inside with trembling hands. Each envelope was marked with a year. One letter for every year of my life. Thirty letters.
I read the first. Then, the second. Then, all of them.
Each one was handwritten in a neat, careful script. Some had drawings. Others had dried petals tucked inside. All were full of emotion, wonder, sorrow… and love.
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So much love.
Linda wrote to me every year—for birthdays, first days of school I never told her about, and college she didn’t even know I’d never finished. She imagined it all, sending wishes into the void.
I cried over every single page. Sobbed. Because for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel forgotten.
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On the third morning, I opened the door again.
The flowerbeds had been watered. The animals were fed. The yard looked freshly swept.
A folded note was tucked under a jar of jam left on the porch.
“Saved the milk in my fridge.
Love, Mom”
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Mom.
I held the note in my hands and stared at that one word.
For the first time, it didn’t feel imaginary. I had a mother—a quiet, complicated, awkward woman who showed love not through words but through letters and gestures.
And I realized… maybe it wasn’t her who had failed me. Perhaps it was the situation. The way life broke apart before either of us could hold it together.
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Dad’s guilt now lives with me: in these walls, in this land, in the silence he left behind. But I have the power to rewrite the ending.
Right then, I made a decision. I stepped out into the morning sun. Barefoot, like always.
Linda was in her yard, wobbling in a half-hearted yoga pose, her sunhat nearly falling over her eyes. But she was trying—still trying.
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My heart ached. I walked toward the fence.
“That’s… the warrior pose. I’m not a huge fan either.”
She froze, then slowly turned. A small, shy smile tugged at her lips.
“You’re doing great,” I added. “But you’ll do better without the hat.”
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She took it off, smoothed the brim with her fingers, and laid it gently on the grass. Then, she moved into the tree pose. She wobbled and fell over sideways.
I really laughed—for the first time in days.
“Okay,” I said, stepping closer to the fence. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll show you one pose, and you try it. But… no more mailbox copying.”
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“Okay,” she whispered.
“You’ll do better if you relax your fingers.”
And we stood there—both of us—finally on the same side of the yard, under the same sky. A little clumsy. A little unsure. But no longer alone.
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Later, we made tea at my place. I pointed to the photo from her letter.
“That photo… that’s you?”
She nodded.
“And my daughter Ellie. It’s you and me.”
“I’ve read all the letters. Thank you, Mom.”
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She clutched her teacup with both hands.
“Can I… try that one pose tomorrow? The one with the leg in the air?”
I nodded. We both smiled. Then we laughed. And somehow, it felt like life was finding its color again.
And you know what?
That yellow fence didn’t seem so weird anymore. Maybe it was the beginning. Just like us.
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Dolly Parton ‘Bathed Once a Week’ & Lived in Shack with Family of 14 — Now Donates Millions to Those in Need
Dolly Parton has maintained her modesty throughout her extraordinary career as a performer, businesswoman, and philanthropist, while accumulating enormous recognition and wealth. Success has unsurprisingly followed her throughout her journey.
Parton knows the hardships of poverty having grown up in a large family. Despite her success as a hugely important Hollywood actress today, she has never forgotten her lowly roots.
In Nashville, Tennessee, in 1955, Dolly Parton posed for a picture. | Source: Getty Images
The genuine Dolly Rebecca Parton, the music icon, was welcomed home by her parents on January 19, 1946, at their home on Locust Ridge in Sevierville, Tennessee. She has eleven siblings and was born in a one-bedroom cottage.
Her father, sharecropper Robert Lee Parton, worked in construction to augment his income because he was unable to attend school and was hence illiterate.
The legendary country singer grew up surrounded by music because of her family’s strong musical heritage. Despite their challenging living conditions, singing brought them together and brought them joy.
In 1965, in Nashville, Tennessee, Dolly Parton posed for a picture. | Source: Getty Images
Parton learned to sing from her mother, the entertainer Avie Lee Owens. She played her a variety of melodies, including Elizabethan ballads and church hymns that had been passed down through the years in her family.
Parton’s grandfather, Jake Robert Owens, composed the hymn “Singing His Praise” while serving as a priest. A number of Parton’s siblings developed a passion for music, and a few of them participated in her family band.
Sam Owens, a musician and singer-songwriter in his own right, was another uncle of Parton. When she was a little child, her uncle—who loved music—was the first to see that she had the ability to become a well-known musician.
Stella Mae, Cassie Nan, the twins Freida Estelle and Rachel Ann, Willadeene, David Wilburn, Coy Denver, Bobby Lee, Robert, and Larry are among Parton’s siblings. After a fight with cancer, Robert passed away in 2021, while Larry passed away at birth.
Parton often assisted her parents in taking care of the younger children because she was the fourth of her twelve siblings. She shared a little roof with her family.
Their log cottage had no running water or electricity at the time, and it only had a living room and one bedroom. The building is still standing today.
Parton has never shied away from talking about her modest upbringing or how it shaped the way she saw the world. She knows what it’s like to be poor; she grew up in a huge household with little money.
In a promotional picture for her 1984 movie “Rhinestone,” Dolly Parton beams. | Source: Getty Images
Parton talked back to The Guardian in 2016 on her early years spent in the remote Tennessee highlands, emphasizing the happy memories from that time in her life. She stated:
“Obviously, there were problems, but I would rather look back on the good times.”
She recalled the times she had spent with her siblings, singing in church, and doing household chores that she didn’t really enjoy. She also remembered all of the laughs she had with her family in the past.
Parton talked about how her siblings would always sing and how she would always attempt to get them to back her up when she pretended to be the lead vocalist on stage, but they would never show any interest.
Parton remembered that her brothers would frequently cram themselves into their small home, which resulted in a lot of mocking and fighting. But they remained a family through all of the turmoil.
The cottage was too small for them to comfortably hang out in, she said, so they spent most of their time outside. The courtyard functioned as an addition for socializing over meals, entertainment, and games.
Parton stated that her family was constantly appreciative of their access to food and a roof. Her parents consistently stressed that other families suffered more than their own, even though it was not exactly what they desired. She remembered:
“I never felt poor, even though we were.”
Parton’s enthusiasm and musical ability would ultimately enable her to become one of the most popular and successful country music artists of all time, despite her family’s humble beginnings.
Growing Up in Poverty
Parton said that although she had happy childhood memories, being poor meant having to endure difficult living circumstances. She and her 14-member family essentially lived in a shanty and had little access to needs.
She revealed that she was just eight years old when she first saw a toilet and bathroom in her aunt’s house and was attracted by them in a March 1978 Playboy magazine interview with journalist Lawrence Grobel.
Parton revealed that she and her siblings were terrified to use the restroom because they believed it would swallow them up, while laughing at how naive and innocent they were at the time. “It was just very strange,” she remembered.
For Parton and her family, taking a daily shower was not an extravagance. Frequently, they would produce their own soap, and occasionally, they would cram themselves into the truck and head to the river to have a bath.
Although there was a brook close by, they all chose to bathe in the river since it served as their “big bath.” As their homemade soap cascaded down the river, they would swim together and give each other’s hair a bath.
Parton compared their river bath to a “bathtub,” jokeing about how filthy they were back then and how it would have left a ring around the Little Pigeon River. For them, taking a river bath was a midsummer rite.
Every member of the household would have a pan of water to wash as much as possible in the winter. Parton answered Grobel’s question about how frequently she and her family took winter baths by saying:
“Well, as the saying goes, we bathed once a week whether we needed to or not.”
Parton started to value bathing more after she started high school. She would bathe every night because her younger siblings would not wash their hands before bed. She disclosed:
The children urinated on me each night. In the bed, we slept three and four. Every night, I would wash. The kids would also wet on me as soon as I went to bed, so I would have to get up in the morning and repeat the entire process.”
On November 5, 2019, in New York City, Dolly Parton is present at the We Are Family Foundation event held at Hammerstein Ballroom. | Found via Getty Images
Parton was not hesitant to express her opinions, explaining that while getting peed on would seem unhygienic to some, the urine actually provided some warmth during the winter.
She remembered how cold it would get at home because she lived in the mountains, and she even mentioned that it was almost enjoyable to get pissed on because the room was just as cold as the outside. They would all curl up in bed, she claimed.
distributing millions
Parton has said that her family is wealthy and content in other ways, despite their lack of material wealth. She became humble as she grew older, and even after becoming wealthy, she never stopped helping those in need, just like her family had done when she was younger. She said:
“My greatest love will always be my family.” Although it might occasionally get lost in the shuffle, family is a part of all I do.
Parton claimed that her family was the inspiration behind her music and that her theme park, Dollywood, and one of its acts, Dixie Stampede, are meant to be places where families can enjoy themselves and spend quality time together.
Parton is a self-made millionaire, with a projected net worth of $375 million in 2022 according to Forbes. Her theme park and ownership rights to music publishing were the main sources of her financial success.
In the 1970s, she refused to share the critically praised song “I Will Always Love You” with Elvis Presley, one of the nearly 3,000 songs that she is in ownership of. When Whitney Houston performed the song in the 1990s, this choice paid off.
In addition, Parton is paid a publishing fee for songs that are sold, aired, or featured in motion pictures. According to Forbes, her songs are valued at $150 million, while her royalties have brought in between $6 and $8 million.
But the source of the music icon’s enormous wealth is her well-known theme park, Dollywood, which is one of Tennessee’s most popular travel destinations. According to reports, it earns $3 million annually.
When the theme park was still known as Pigeon Forge in 1968, the country music artist made an investment in it. Later, she gave it a new name, “Dollywood,” a pun on the word “Hollywood.” There is a water park and a hotel in the park.
In addition, Parton just unveiled Doggy Parton, a pun on her well-known name, as a new business. The business, which makes apparel and toys for dogs, was founded because of her passion for animals.
Parton learned the value of sharing her accomplishment with others from her early experiences. She is a businessman and singer in addition to being involved in a number of social and humanitarian organizations and having given millions of dollars to people in need.
In order to collect $13 million for the survivors of the East Tennessee wildfires that devastated Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg in 2016, Parton teamed together with a group of musicians.
At “Smoky Mountains Rise: A Benefit for the My People Fund,” other well-known performers included Chris Stapelton, Kenny Rogers, Lauren Alaina, Alison Krauss, Reba McEntire, Cyndi Lauper, and Chris Young.
Following her niece’s leukemia treatment at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in Nashville, Parton donated $1 million to the Monroe Carell Jr. Children’s Hospital in 2017.
Apart from extending monetary support to individuals impacted by natural calamities, Parton made a noteworthy impact on the healthcare industry through her magnanimous financial contributions.
When she gave $1 million to vaccine research in 2020 amid the global COVID-19 pandemic, which affected people all over the world, she made headlines. Her input was useful in developing the Moderna vaccine.
Parton’s unwavering commitment to advancing early childhood literacy is another well-known quality. Each month, she provides over a million youngsters with free books through her nonprofit initiative, Imagination Library.
In order to assist kids in learning to read and write, Parton and Robert Lee established a non-profit organization in 1995, drawing inspiration from her father’s personal experience with illiteracy. Although it began in eastern Tennessee, it has expanded to assist children in all 50 states as well as the District of Columbia.
Other nations, like Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom, have also been affected by the literacy initiative. Parton announced at the Library of Congress in 2018 that the initiative has distributed its 100 millionth book.
When the campaign first began, Parton just wanted to support her father and her hometown; she had no idea it would become so popular. She said with joy, “But then it just took its own wings, and I guess it was meant to be.”
Parton was also pleased that her father was quite proud of having contributed something valuable. Before he died in 2000, he had the opportunity to witness the results of their labor.
Her goals for the Imagination Library are also very lofty. She acknowledged having lofty goals and wishing to donate one billion books in her lifetime.
Despite having a difficult upbringing, Parton never lost sight of the value of community and family. She made the most of her riches by giving millions of dollars a year to a range of humanitarian causes, such as health, education, and disaster relief.
Her lowly beginnings instilled in her the virtues of perseverance, hard effort, and the unifying power of music. She also recalls the love, laughter, and happiness that characterized her childhood home and the family who stood by her side no matter what as she reflects on her life.
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