(there's no space like home, there's no space like home, there's no space like home)
DOI:
https://doi.org/10.25071/2292-4736/40589Abstract
i'm a culture hugger, a city hick, a suburban chick. (i've driven through algonquin park.) i'm visiting a bean-friend in cottage country. snow, ice, lake, trees, sun, birds, dean air. we walk across the singing lake, smiling at the sun, each other, the trees, until our faces hurt with pleasure. here is beauty. but cottages crowd every inch of snowmobiles soon by. electric giants hum as they march along the horizon. cars whine along the not too distant highway. this nature? is it home? what feels like nature? what feels like home?
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Copyright (c) 1995 fiona heathCreators retain copyright for all writings and artwork published in UnderCurrents. New material published as of Volume 21 (2022) is available under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0).
