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  • When I was a child, I was fascinated by the big electricity pylons in the valley below my grandmother's home. I had seen them elsewhere in the countryside too, and somehow I began to believe that no matter where I was in the country, if I followed them I would find my way to Grandma's place.

    In a world filled with travel, moving, new schools and languages, the summers spent at my grandmother's place were my one constant. It was a poor little farmstead, most of which had fallen victim to forced collectivization in Communist times. My grandmother had been a widow since the age of 28 and had struggled to farm and keep animals all by herself, while raising three, then two children. Even though the piglets terrified me when I was three, the cow and sheep until I was about five, while a flock of angry geese will scare me even now, I loved those timeless summer months.

    My grandmother died nearly ten years ago and her plot of land has fallen into disarray, but seeing these electricity pylons (even when I am in another country) still thrills me and makes me believe I can find my way home.
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