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In the lumberwoods, “The Deacon's Seat” is a sort of hallowed space. While simply constructed of a split log, such was the seating area in a logging camp bunkhouse from whence the old-time lumberjack would spin stories and sing songs to regale their fellows. On reflecting upon this, I thought what a fitting analogy for some little spot whereby I might address travelers to my own neck of the woods. And so, herein traveler, one will find the ramblings, musings, addresses, vituperations, &c. of a not-so-serious sort to convey to you officially that I have yet to shed my earthly trappings and ascend to any kingdom yet to come. That is to say in a rather cumbersome manner, “I ain't dead yet!” But still, if such is not sufficient to those ends, all are welcome to wire me a message through the modern system:
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