You described my home exactly, moved in to it in 1943, I was 5 years old. Dad bought the old house from a mining town that disappeared as the war wound down. I remember riding in the house as it was moved, how excited we were, our family had a home all five of us. Mom did put linoleum in the kitchen. We had an ice box and everything. Several years after the war we had a refrigerator. Gasoline engine powered washing machine. I would take those days in a heart beat.
We tore that house down in 1990 (built sometime at the turn of the last century.) When the dozer had gotten around to crunching up the roof, you could still see the pine ridge and rafter poles he used to build it. My mom and aunt who had grown up there cried a lot.