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In New Jersey, where the greatest success or failure of suburban man can be found in his front yard,
it's nice to know the folks who took over our unmanageable lawn have fared no better than my poor late
father. He tried everything. The thing I loved about our house was that our back yard didn't just
connect to another back yard. We had forest, deep deciduous oak and sassafras and scrub pine with blueberry
bushes and, to my mother's continual horror, tons of ticks. I, however, was in heaven. What a playground!
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