Forty years ago after my dad had just died, I was a Park Aid at Folsom Lake State Park in the off season by myself. It was then I dreamed of living underground. It felt safe. I imagined the rooms curving around a cylinder core with an elevator going down to a lake.

My only company was a squirrel stationed outside my trailer door. I know now the dream with the help of others — the land, the squirrel and the presence of my dad — helped me heal.

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