When I was a boy I wanted to see the world. Bit by bit it happened. In 1948, at the age of three, I left my home in Mamaroneck, just north of New York City, and flew with my mother to a different life in California’s San Fernando Valley, outside Los Angeles. I spent my adolescent summers at the Grand Canyon and swam in the great Pacific. Later, when my mother married again, we moved to the Murray Hill area of Manhattan. Another sort of canyon. I travelled across Europe by bus when I was 17. I went to Mexico. In 1970 I moved to rural Oregon. I camped in the desert in Namibia, and on the polar plateau, ...
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