I too traveled that road many times as a child, riding down to visit relatives in Indian (Dimond Jim’s.)
For years there was a scrawny, wind-blown tree on the water-side of the road that signaled the last turn before arriving at our destination. Secretly I claimed that tree as mine and I was always amazed that it survived the harsh environment in which it was planted. In the middle of a rough Alaskan winter we could relate, no?
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