On a kindergarten field trip to a friendly forest, one of the chaperones told my mother that I would probably become a scientist some day. I had stooped to peer into the underbrush for the third or fourth time, lagging behind the others to inspect fire ant colonies or weird-looking wild mushrooms.
My mother has told many stories like that, so often that I can hardly distinguish them from my own memories. I can almost see that path in Lemontree Park with its winding regiments of candy red ants doing their business in the sandy shadows. I can also see that look in my mother's eyes, half-exasper...
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