Dads Cabin


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Found it. Different property, possibly next door?

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Holy shit. She says, planning out a trip to wherever in Wisconsin this adorable place is!!! My prior stalking, I mean sleuthing! From JV's Dad's instagram. There are other photos of the cabin around on the internet.

With dad out of the way, she partied with her friends in his cabin

Same cabin just looks older in those photos. Hmm, well- I guess he would know! Chen Jinge Dan Zhu Chen Ning Jonathan Kos-Read David as Cao Cao Giulia Calovini Lucy Ning Ma Yang Juan Limin Chen Elderly Yang Juan Miao Tian Wang Shuying Di Chang Young Chen Jinge Jiaxin Sun Chen Ning in childhood Zihan Wang Old ally Shusheng Li Old ally Wenpin Zhang Old ally Baogang Li Edit Storyline A story about a father and a daughter puting aside their differences and conflicts for the sake of the grand-kid.

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Genres: Drama. Edit Details Country: China. Language: Chinese. Color: Color.


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Add the first question. We did love that piece of swamp. He had taught us right from the start that wild places were where we really lived. When I was three and we lived near the Air Force base at Paine Field, north of Seattle, he hand-built me a boat, a two-seater wooden dinghy painted forest green, so we could fish our favorite lake in the Cascades.

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We moved back to Michigan to fish the good rivers, the Au Sable and the Manistee and the Pere Marquette, and to hunt pheasants and deer. Home was not one of the good places. Even while he was building the boat, he would slip away with some other woman and be gone for months at a time, sending no word, no money, no sign of coming back. Women liked him, and for the first 15 years of my life, he just went with whoever came his way.

He locked all emotions away in a place of total control and silence. None of us needed him anymore.

And then came this camp. It was certainly different.

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All the blinds were up, the drapes pulled back, and the spring wind blew straight through open windows to lift and drop the pull cords against the wall, where they rattled like someone throwing dice on a table. A strip plantation of red pines stood between the house and the logged fields, and the tips of the pines glowed yellow-white as they heaved out their pollen cones and prepared to dust the swamps to the east.

The coming twilight flowed cool and sweet all over the carpet. It hit me then that Dad had allowed the gap between him and those fields to close. As much as he loved the woods, he had always treated this place as though it were untrustworthy. It would let him down. But now the whole cabin was thrown open. He was exposed, fully exposed, and he was aiming his face into a breeze out of the southwest.

After a minute, he turned away from the windows to put water on for tea. Something in him had released. The low-angle sun shot through and flared on the windows. Dad held up a finger and then pointed toward the east, and we both stopped to listen to a grouse drumming on an old log on the edge of the big swamp. Is anything coming up? The way he said it, it sounded like denial.

Dad was acting weird; he never said fabulous. Maybe the logging had broken his mind. I tugged open the slider, and we walked off the porch and started out. The old relief surged through the soles of my boots. A lone bullfrog whomped from a ditch. The radiance was choked with a passing traffic of insect, spore, and seed. When we met in the red pines, there were hugs all around, but I was madly distracted by what was going on in that field.

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