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<DIV>Back of our house was the swamp where Se-wal-a-wal was buried. My folk were
from the south and I'd often heard the stories about the "dismal swamps" and of
runaway Negroes who had escaped to them, and of dangerous plants that sucked
one's blood and puff adders and water moccasins, so I had absorbed quite a
profound respect for swamps in general. That ours was really only a bit of a
swale, that we had neither water moccasins or runaway Negroes, did not really
make a lot of difference. There was always a chance and unusual things happened
to me most every day, and besides I had been suspicious that far worse things
than water moccasins might be in that swamp.</DIV>
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<DIV> Mossy old maple trees grew there and Father used to drag them
up for winter wood. I had seen the half rotted, wet roots in the nighttime, with
the phosphorescent glow from them, lighting the whole wood yard into something
that sent shivers up and down my back. Father said it was only "foxfire" and
that there was nothing in our swamp to be afraid of except live Indians and old
Se-wal-a-wal. I do not remember ever troubling about Se-wal-a-wal. and of
course, I was not afraid of our live Indians. They were very good to me and I
liked them. Since then I have often seen the "foxfire" and while I was not
afraid of it, I never liked it.</DIV>
<DIV> </DIV>
<DIV><FONT lang=0 face=Arial size=2 FAMILY="SANSSERIF" PTSIZE="10"><B>Walt
Davies<BR>Cooper Hollow Farm<BR>Monmouth, OR 97361<BR>503 623-0460 <BR></B><IMG SRC="cid:X.MA1.1085956388@aol.com" height=93 width=72 border=0 DATASIZE="2892" ID="MA1.1085956388" ></FONT></DIV></FONT></BODY></HTML>