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never expected. And, at the end, I only had one plea. I hoped the Trace seared us into its soul. When people traveled it in a thousand years, maybe a few of them would hear my parents and me. In fallen leaves and birdsong. In the echo of their own footsteps. In a field of daffodils winking in the breeze. I stood next to the Natchez Trace Parkway sign, flanked by my parents. When I smiled into the camera, with one arm around each of them, I made one final addendum. I wanted to recall every molecule of our adventure. The sound
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Andra Watkins (Not Without My Father: One Woman's 444-Mile Walk of the Natchez Trace)