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It rarely snows this early in the upper south, but it drizzles more days than it doesn’t. If you’re not careful you can vanish into the mist on a Kentucky back road like Heathcliff on the moors of England. My family was luckier than most. We had Aunt Helen and her recipe for cast-iron skillet spaghetti to keep us on course through the gray days of November. Through the tedious weeks of stripping tobacco. Through frigid mornings on a schoolbus as we made the 20-mile trip to school. Or trudging, as she did, day after day, to a typewriter in an office.
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