(My mother's neighbour is Korean, and every spring I see her in her front yard, drying great quantities of bracken fiddleheads. I once tried to strike up a conversation with her while she worked, but lack of common language limited us to smiles and nods. Still, I believe my gestures and tone of voice communicated my approval of her good sense. If nothing else, her yearly ritual brings some badly-needed earthiness to my mom's tightly-ordered retirement community.)
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