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  • I once spent an entire summer living in these tents. Huge canvas army tents on wooden platforms. Sleeping in creaky, saggy metal bunk beds with sleeping bags and mosquito nets by night. Wrangling horses and getting muddy and and blazing trails by day, teaching campers how to ride. I remember coaxing them out of bed in the mornings when Reveille would sound at 7 o'clock sharp, to much moaning and groaning and burrowing back under the covers.

    "One foot on the floor, kiddos. You can stay like that for a minute, but then I need the other foot out of your sleeping bag too," I'd say, gently, but firmly. "You can get creative. I don't care. As long as both feet are out of bed." Toes stretched for the floorboards, little legs dangled over the edges of the top bunks. "Time to sit up now. And in a moment we're aaall gonna have to get out of bed completely. Yes, me too."

    "Ready? Okay. Go."

    Children are a lot like horses.
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