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Back when I was one, I made the acquaintance of Leah, who is on the far right. This was in Oklahoma, where the summers lay thick in the air, suggesting, oppressively, that our parents should go West. Leah was the first of five; I was the first of five. After both families packed up and re-organized in the Willamette Valley, we saw each other frequently. And then we ran wild: Leah and I, Shannon and Bess, Laura and Samuel, Johanna and Daniel, and then, after they were born, Joseph and Isaiah. On the Ewers’ property, we played in the river, the fields, the barns; we milked the goats, rode the horses, ran with the dogs, fed the rabbits, pet the cats. Two decades later, Johanna got married in our old stomping grounds.

Joseph was Johanna’s Man of Honor. Here he is about to walk down the aisle with Andy, the Best Man and Shannon’s husband.

There were a grand total of five photographers — the curse of family and friends with semi-expensive digital SLRs. None of us got paid, but I’m sure all of us got some good shots.

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