July 1929. I never got along with my dad. After a few disagreements I decided I head out on my own. I took my dog, Buck, a mixture of Labrador Chesapeake and Setter, and with my life savings went out to meet the world. I had saved enough to purchase a couple of acres along the Mississippi in northern Minnesota. It was located on a peninsula created by the meandering of this great river about five miles from the wagon trail. The first year was the roughest. I spent the summer building my cabin. I was seventeen, well almost.
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