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  • I lived on a farm when I was little, then lived 13 years on the edge of woods and farm fields. I've also lived in New York City, in San Francisco and in the city of Syracuse, NY, but I always thought of myself as a country girl.

    I backpacked the Northville Placid Trail, parts of the Colorado Trail, high peaks in all the Northeastern states and wild parts of California and Colorado. I did vision questing in the wilderness for many years.

    Now I live in Detroit. I have to drive over an hour—each way—to reach any kind of real country, and it makes me sad. I feel like an outsider in the city, like I don't belong here. And I'm afraid I'll be stuck here the rest of my life.

    I try to seek out small islands of green in the city, but it's just not the same. Here, in Detroit, one can never escape the sound of traffic, airplanes, motors, voices, people. (Of course, we can spend vacations in the “country” and in fact, did so this year for part of our vacation—but a short trip is simply not the same as a year, a lifetime.)

    I came here for love, to marry my husband. But the heart--my heart--needs nature, the out-of-doors, solitude and silence as well as love, and I am often torn.

    The accompanying images are both by me, one from inside my one-woman tent in the back-country of Colorado and one here in Detroit. The back-country image is a scan from a slide.
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