Many years ago, I boxed up all my books and put them in storage in an Iowa basement while I packed up my bike, put two paperbacks in my shoulder bag, and took an airplane to an attic room 1000 miles away. I had plenty of canine companionship, some old books on shelves, and those two paperbacks, and soon enough my bike arrived, which opened up dozens of new adventures with my dogs chasing along beside me into the surrounding countryside. I hardly gave a thought to my boxes and boxes of books back in Iowa. After all, I thought, nothing will happen to them. Nothing ever happens in Iowa. That’s practically the whole charm of the place.
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