It began one summer, somewhere on the coast, in a place called Sawadapskw’i, on a cliff overlooking the sea. It was there that a young man named Manedo—our twelfth great-grandfather—kissed his wife, Kanti—our twelfth great-grandmother—and told her: “Wait right here.” This was nearly four hundred years ago, when you could stand on that cliff, turn right, left, and backward and see only trees. Long before there was a house, a sawmill, a shipyard, a town, though all of that would come. The spot on the cliff held great meaning for the couple. Their people camped by the nearby river each summer. It
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