My dad's farm had this unusual "Little House" that stood on a hill across the pond.  It had a small porch, one bedroom that connected to the living area with a fireplace and a small kitchen.  It had been the home of a sharecropper family.  The old guy who lived there was a World War I veteran who always had a garden he plowed with his faithful mule.  The house had stood the test of time well and seemed proud on that hill.  Not a pretty house, but it had character and memories.