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mountains all the way to the Pacific Ocean. Sometimes, on early summer evenings, my mother would arrange to have dinner early so that we could go out for a ride in the automobile. With the help of the gardener my father would put the top down and after long efforts with [??] cranking the motor was started and the car would be brought around to the path corner. Wearing a long pongee coat my mother would come out and take her place on the back seat and we would move cautiously out onto Sheridan Road, sounding the horn in case a bicycle or belated delivery cart might be coming. Once headed west and we were soon at the edge of the Stokie, the oaks & close of the North Shore were behind us and the darkness prarie stretched out before us on either side of the little dirt road, under all the silent glory of the sunset.