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Native Places: Feels Like 44°

Native Places: Feels Like 44°

“Feels like 44,” the radio announced as I drove into a parking garage in Aix-en-Provence recently. That’s 111° Fahrenheit.  On the pavement outside the garage, a woman of about 50 sat crumpled against a wall. Her black garments looked hot. “My husband is dead,”...
Native Places: “Pretty as a new-laid egg”

Native Places: “Pretty as a new-laid egg”

“Pretty as a new-laid egg” Mrs. Ladu, my fifth-grade teacher, was a fierce guardian of the English language. A single “ain’t” evoked her wrath. Since then I’ve tried to keep the faith. But at lunch in the mountains of East Tennessee recently, the cook came over to...