Here's another earth-moving tale, according to family legend. This time, the story is from my mom's side of the family. Her dad, my grandpa (a skilled carpenter), had built a grand house for his wife and several children. Unfortunately, the property it stood on wasn't as good as it could be, so he and my grandma bought a better piece of land on the other side of town.
Unwilling to let their magnificent home go to waste (or to another owner), they called upon their cousins (my grandpa's or my grandma's, I am not sure), who lived in the hills. They were said to be giants (probably greater-than-average in stature, but I won't ruin the fantasy element with factuality).
And so the Giants descended from the Hills, to help my grandpa move his house. They took the building by its foundations and lifted. The ground shook (probably not, but stick with me here).
With the house in their hands, a house large enough for a family of 11 (with pets), the Giants began walking. They marched down the small residential street that led to the main boulevard of the town. They passed neighbors' homes, or rather former neighbors' homes. They passed the town park, the school, the church, and City Hall.
The townsfolk didn't know whether to be amazed or afraid. Here they were, a worthy band of Giants. And there it was, a three-story house ever-moving across town. For who other than the Giants from the Hills could bear this weight?
At the other side of town, on land that my grandparents had purchased, the Giants gently put down their kinsman's house, which stands there to this day.