Musings |
4/10/2013 1 Comment A Sense of PlaceMy family landed in Guilford, Connecticut, in the 1600s and never left. Growing up, my grandfather would tell me that it didn't matter how far I traveled, I would always belong to this place and would always love the farm. In my adolescence, I didn't believe him — in fact, I was bound and determined to prove him wrong. At the earliest opportunity, I left New England to attend college in Washington, D.C.
My parents referred to it as the "murder capital of the world."
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