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  • Every summer I go to the island where I grew up, where my mother grew up, where my grandmother grew up. In wintertime the island is lost in the fog and silence.
    In summertime the tourists comes out, or the summerguests as we call them. They take our paths, our beaches, our icecreams and we love it.
    In the photo you see the back of my grandmother, the little girl sitting on a chair. I love the look of the delicate table. The food taste something in the feeling of wilderness.
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