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The Wild Alone
by Swati SinghLouie Boer is a college chum of my father’s, a peach farmer, and somewhat of a mythical figure. I remember him visiting the house when I was a kid, driving down from Modesto in his ginormous truck, wearing a thick lined windbreaker and work boots. He is a big guy – towering, Dutch, and agricultural. Louie is the kind of guy you look at...
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The Wild Alone
by Swati SinghLouie Boer is a college chum of my father’s, a peach farmer, and somewhat of a mythical figure. I remember him visiting the house when I was a kid, driving down from Modesto in his ginormous truck, wearing a thick lined windbreaker and work boots. He is a big guy – towering, Dutch, and agricultural. Louie is the kind of guy you look at...
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Picnic Sandwiches
by Swati SinghOne day a white Ford Econoline van appeared, so old that its paint was matted, its enamel sheared away by time and smogwinds. The sound was unnerving when I scratched my stubby nails on its side to examine it, but I accepted it. It had a defunct refrigeration unit the size of a case of small water bottles on top and a huge sticker...
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My Madame Bovary Story
by Swati SinghEmma Bovary, the ill-fated protagonist of Gustave Flaubert’s eponymous novel, struggled to live within the confines of provincial life. She grew up on a convent and thought marriage would be her entry into an existence more nuanced than the farm life she knew. Her husband was a respectable doctor and loved her, but she found him boring and filled her idle time reading romance...
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Journey to Atlantis
by Swati SinghI remember what I wore on the day I moved into my freshman year dorm because it was more than the shirt on my back. It was hot that day in San Diego. October can be like that in Southern California. Sure the season turns, but it’s a trepidatious three point turn that lurches in and out of Summer like a beat up Toyota...
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The Backyard at Longview
by Swati SinghIn my silent picture memories out back in the old house at Longview, a few places stand out. The window above the sink overlooking the backyard where I would see my mother watching us play. I imagine myself there now for I look like her and there is nothing to look onto, but the sun setting on a life we once knew when we...
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The Garden, Dad, and I
by Swati SinghI spent much of my time growing up, especially my adolescent years, with my father in our backyard garden. We had this lust to grow things together. I would be home from school waiting for him and the second he got home, we’d be out there with our seeds. Our garden wasn’t neat and symmetrical like the ones I’d see in my mother’s magazines....
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Peggy
by Swati SinghWhen I moved in with Peggy for almost a year in 2009, she was 88 years old. This past January, Peggy turned 100. I haven’t seen her since 2013 or 2014, but we’ve miraculously stayed in touch over the phone despite her hopping states and retirement communities several times. We talk once or twice a year, usually by accident. I’ll be scrolling through my...
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A Beautiful Harvest
by Swati SinghI caught up with Louie the peach farmer last week and we talked about the troubling water situation in California. Louie also grows almonds, a mainstay in our state, but also one of our most water-consuming crops. Louie is no stranger to this reality, but it’s tough to transition away from a crop you’ve been working with your whole life. Always looking to the...
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The Wild Alone
by Swati SinghLouie Boer is a college chum of my father’s, a peach farmer, and somewhat of a mythical figure. I remember him visiting the house when I was a kid, driving down from Modesto in his ginormous truck, wearing a thick lined windbreaker and work boots. He is a big guy – towering, Dutch, and agricultural. Louie is the kind of guy you look at...
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Picnic Sandwiches
by Swati SinghOne day a white Ford Econoline van appeared, so old that its paint was matted, its enamel sheared away by time and smogwinds. The sound was unnerving when I scratched my stubby nails on its side to examine it, but I accepted it. It had a defunct refrigeration unit the size of a case of small water bottles on top and a huge sticker...
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Picnic Sandwiches
by Swati SinghOne day a white Ford Econoline van appeared, so old that its paint was matted, its enamel sheared away by time and smogwinds. The sound was unnerving when I scratched my stubby nails on its side to examine it, but I accepted it. It had a defunct refrigeration unit the size of a case of small water bottles on top and a huge sticker...