We got out of the car and took a seat on a large rock under a tree. Temperatures in recent days had soared to more than a hundred degrees, but up on the mountain, it was a comfortable eighty-five. As I stood looking out over the valley below us dotted with shadows from the occasional clouds overhead, I thought of all the other times I’d been there studying the exact same valley that FDR viewed on his escapes to the Knob.
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