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Doing What Kids Ought to Do
Years ago, we lived in a back-to-front cottage. The back door faced the long driveway that led to the road, and the front one turned towards an endless paddock of chewing-the-cud cows. Around the cottage was what the real estate woman had called a yard: “It’s nothing fancy,” she’d said on the day when she’d shown me the house. Her yard was my garden, and my garden was my kids’…