Hometown Stories: California!
The Habit
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The Importance of Place in Life
When I was 11, we lived on a former horse property. The brush pile was like a forest you could forage through and come out the other side with only a few tears in your play clothes to prove your toughness. A train track ran behind our back fence at that house. One of my cousins visited once and woke up in the middle of the night sure she was about to die underneath an airplane landing on the roof.
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