As a great literary artist once said, "I'm the type that's always catching a flight." At the moment that has led me to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I have never been here before. I'm staying in an old historic hotel, and the snow is coming down in sheets. I don't know whether to be awed by the beauty or annoyed that I can't get my run in. (I'm seriously considering trying anyway.) Either way, having spent the past year in the letters of runaway slaves and flying from my own family on business, I've spent a lot of time thinking about the virtues of home.
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