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	Comments on: A cottonwood led the way	</title>
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		<title>
		By: Mom		</title>
		<link>https://patrickdobson.com/a-cottonwood-led-the-way/#comment-12194</link>

		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Mom]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 12 Oct 2016 18:41:43 +0000</pubDate>
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					<description><![CDATA[In reply to &lt;a href=&quot;https://patrickdobson.com/a-cottonwood-led-the-way/#comment-12022&quot;&gt;Bill Neaves&lt;/a&gt;.

Cottonwoods line the  Carson River here in Nevada.  I have also learned to listen to the special sounds of the breeze at Fort Churchill State Park in the campground.  Such a quiet place to be.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>In reply to <a href="https://patrickdobson.com/a-cottonwood-led-the-way/#comment-12022">Bill Neaves</a>.</p>
<p>Cottonwoods line the  Carson River here in Nevada.  I have also learned to listen to the special sounds of the breeze at Fort Churchill State Park in the campground.  Such a quiet place to be.</p>
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		<title>
		By: Bill Neaves		</title>
		<link>https://patrickdobson.com/a-cottonwood-led-the-way/#comment-12022</link>

		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Bill Neaves]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Sat, 01 Oct 2016 00:32:44 +0000</pubDate>
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					<description><![CDATA[Patrick, This is a wonderful essay.  Our old farmhouse in West Texas was surrounded by cottonwood trees my grandfather transplanted from the creek half a mile away and watered by hand until their roots reached the relatively shallow watertable.  I grew up listening to the sound of wind in the leaves.  Good for you to have written this. Bill]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>Patrick, This is a wonderful essay.  Our old farmhouse in West Texas was surrounded by cottonwood trees my grandfather transplanted from the creek half a mile away and watered by hand until their roots reached the relatively shallow watertable.  I grew up listening to the sound of wind in the leaves.  Good for you to have written this. Bill</p>
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