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October 9, 2006
We drive down the dirt road. My sister says, joyously, at every turn in the road, every tree, every landmark imaginable: Ours! She, her husband, and our brother own these acres, this part of the earth. Even when I owned my apartment in San Francisco, I didn't own the ground it stood on. Standing in the sunny meadow where their homestead will be built, looking at the redwood forests that have been there for centuries, I am overcome with what it means. Theirs. Ours. A real home, parents or not. Dad would have been so happy for all of us.