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Some stories do not begin with a plan. They begin with a feeling. A tug, if you like. For me, it was the tug of a tiny piglet.
Calvin Swine. Even his name makes you smile, and somehow that feels fitting, because he was that kind of pig.
“If not you, then who? If not now, when?” — Hillel the Elder. It began with a small blackberry bush. Just a slender, spiked vine growing by the roadside at the western entrance to my town.
