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Every month when Jonathan emails me that it is time once again to come up with a story about our little town’s past, I cringe. “Not already,” I whine. “ I just finished the last one.” It’s not that I mind the chore, actually, it is a pleasure to me, but it is sometimes difficult to come up with a theme. I usually scan through the historical society photos, looking for the thread that will end up woven into a tapestry that represents Tualatin.
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