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None of this mattered when it came right down to it. What mattered was it held the sense of a real home, the graciousness of those living here, their generosity and good will.
He had to make them mistakes, go through all he’d been through to fully appreciate what he had and he was grateful.
They were an indelible symbol of what they’d accomplished; like the catfaces on the trunks of the longleaf pines, they were the imprint of their love, their existence proof of what they’d been, who they were, even long after they’d left this Earth.
