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Grandpa Porter could tell some great stories. Some of them were even true. In all fairness they might all have been factual.
The last few years, though, I’ve wondered about some of them.
He would sit in his porch swing and fire up his pipe with Prince Albert tobacco. He might tell us stories like the one about the strange snake he encountered in the woods. He beat it into pieces with a stick, but the rascal rejoined itself and crawled off after he left.
In winter, the story man moved into the front room where you had to dodge thunder clouds of tobacco smoke drifting towards you in the warm room. If you got trapped in one of those things and you could forget about breathing for a while. Continue reading