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40 Motherlode Hoofdweg* 102, De Krim, Overijssel Flatlands, farm country, waterways, treelines. Train speeding me back in time to this quiet village, barely awake. I walk along the dike, thinking of the boy who stuck his finger in, legend like my mother’s house—until today. Its façade, triangular with two windows upstairs, two larger ones at ground level, looks like a face with wide eyes and a large mouth, expressions and words, stories to tell. Once a butchery and a shoemaking shop, now home to a family of six. Front room divided by need— PlayStation and TV on one side, hearth and soft leather sofas on the other no trace of her life, no visible false ceiling, no frame around untold stories. ...

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