I got my first bike in 1943. It was an old, second-hand blue bike. Bikes of any kind were very1at that time. A new bike was rarely to be seen, as2was needed to produce weapons to3our brave men and women in the fighting overseas.

    At ten, I was quite4 I convinced my mother I could earn enough money to be a millionaire—if I only had an old second-hand bike. She laughed but5about 80 per cent of the total cost of the bike. I had6a few dollars digging gardens, cleaning snow and doing other jobs.

    I7Mother I'd pay back the loan(借款). The day I got my bike was one of the happiest of my life. I could8earning some money--9groceries(杂货) for Clarks' grocery store and packages for a small store a few block away—this was in the Forest Hills section of Edmonton. I made a few dollars but10to start another work, as the first was proving too11to come by.

    My mother, another brother, Len, and I were to12Dad in Yellowknife, which was so far way that my bike couldn't be transported there. Leaving my bike was very difficult, but13had to come first. I made very little money14it, not enough to pay Mother back. We15Yellowknife in the fall of 1943. It was quite an experience for a young fellow, or anybody else for that matter.

    After we'd been in Yellowknife for a while, I was able to16Mother for the bike loan. I got a job at the recreation centre in the Negus Mine. The17paid great—I had lots of money, but would not18another bike. The19there were made with the tailings(尾矿) from the mine—lots of rough rock. The new20had not been built at that time.

    Jen and Jeff Fisher were a lovely couple with two kids who would soon be faced with a life-changing decision. Not only would it change the1of the family that they already had but it would also change the2of three young children that came into their home.

    The Fishers already had two3of their own: 13-year old Aiden and 10-year-old Macy. The Fishers decided to4another child and were introduced to the foster (寄养的) system. It was through foster care that they'd5three kids who would change everything.

    A social worker who worked with the foster system6the Fishers to an 11-year-old girl named Tannah Butterfield. She and her two younger siblings (弟妹) lost their7and no longer had a home of their own. Tannah wanted nothing more than a8of her own.

    As is9with the foster system, siblings are at risk of being separated from each other and sent off to10homes. But that's when the Fishers did something extraordinary.

    The Fishers11Tannah and her siblings, six- year-old Teagun and two-year-old Tallie, into their home. It was an extremely polite gesture,12since some foster families won't accept siblings together due to their13differences.

    When Tannah and her siblings set foot in the Fisher household for the first14, the switch couldnt have been15. They got along well with Aiden and Macy as if they'd all16each other their whole lives!

    A majority of kids in foster care often17separated. Luckily for Tannah, Teagun, and Tallie, they were able to18with the Fisher family for whole two years. At that point, Jen and Jeff Fisher19that they wanted to adopt the three kids that they had come to20as their own.

On a hot afternoon Rhiannon was driving her old van down the highway. As she 1 her window to let in some fresh air, her car registration paper blew off the sun visor (防晒板) and onto the floor inside. When leaning down to 2 it, she accidentally drifted into oncoming traffic, in panic, she over-corrected and pulled the 3 sharply in the other direction. 4 , the van rolled over three times, and Rhiannon was thrown onto the road, lying in the middle of the road and bleeding, nearly 5 .

A medical student witnessed the accident and came to her 6 . He covered Rhiannon with his coat and gave her emergency first aid, including 7 the wound on her left arm before the ambulance arrived.

8 , Rhiannon was rushed to a hospital where an emergency room doctor spent hours 9 all the pieces of windshield (挡风玻璃) from her arm, and gave her three dozen stitches (缝针).

Luckily, Rhiannon was saved. Not for the bandage, she would not have 10 long enough for the emergency personnel to arrive. Though Rhiannon didn't know him, she was grateful to the medical student who saved her life. So she 11 the words online, "It's a pity that I don't know your name. If you happen to see or hear this story and recognize yourself, thank you for your kind 12 ."

Rhiannon also had a message for the other 13 heroes, "Please consider this a pay-it-forward letter of 14 —a letter from the 15 you helped who, for whatever reason, couldn't thank you themselves."

More than 50 years ago, my dad planted {#blank#}1{#/blank#} evergreen tree.He watered it and cared for it.A few {#blank#}2{#/blank#}(year) later, when it grew to about 3 feet tall, he placed its first set of Christmas lights on it.Thus our tradition began.Every Christmas ever since, this tree has lit up our neighborhood corner.

Dad passed away in November 1991.With all the emotions of his {#blank#}3{#/blank#}(pass),Thanksgiving came and went.When the topic of the tree {#blank#}4{#/blank#}(bring) up, Mom said,"Not this year."But my brother, sister and I said,"Dad would want it to be done,"so the following weekend,we {#blank#}5{#/blank#}(decorate) the tree together {#blank#}6{#/blank#} memory of him.

The tree now stands about 40 feet tall, and we have to use a beautiful cherry lift.{#blank#}7{#/blank#}(put) the top lights on.We turn the lights on the evening after Thanksgiving,{#blank#}8{#/blank#} send out light each night until New Year's Day.People drive by slowly, taking pictures or simply {#blank#}9{#/blank#} (enjoy) its beauty.Then in spring we pack the lights {#blank#}10{#/blank#}(safe) away for the next year.

Upon my arrival at Falconwood Apiary, Kaat Kaye is already engrossed in the meticulous inspection of the apian domiciles, oblivious to my arrival. I find myself privy to her soft murmurings directed towards the bees, their mellifluous drone resonating through the atmosphere, interspersed with her gentle words of encouragement and compromise.

Kaye was born with profound auditory impairment. Although she has the capacity to perceive sounds with the aid of auditory prosthetics, she often dispenses with them during her labors. "Acoustic sensations are alien to my experience," she elucidates. "I revel in the tranquility and stillness. In the company of bees, aural perception is superfluous. My concentration is heightened when not beset by incessant auditory distractions."

Adorned with naught but her cowl, apiarian instrument, and device for the emission of smoke, Kaye proceeds with a measured and deliberate gait. In contrast, I am excessively attired, having donned a comprehensive protective garment for our encounter. She advises me to shed the gloves I've brought along and directs me to a position that will minimize the agitation of the bees. Kaye's tender and cautious methodology instills a sense of calm in my presence among her charges. As our time together accrues, my admiration for Kaye's fervor for apiculture and the manner in which her auditory limitations have sculpted her distinctive methodology deepens.

In her vocation, she champions organic apicultural practices that minimize the utilization of chemical treatments. Moreover, she gathers all the requisite intelligence for the stewardship of the hives by depending on her non-auditory senses. Perhaps most notably, what renders Kaye an extraordinary apiarist is almost metaphysical. Excelling in her vocation is inextricably linked to adaptability, navigating the myriad uncertainties that emerge on any given day. Is precipitation excessive? Scarce? When will the flora reach full bloom? Will it yield a bountiful harvest of honey? She responds with alacrity, ensuring not to disrupt the bees' cadence and equilibrium.

"There is a profound, almost spiritual dimension to the craft of beekeeping," she remarked. "You cannot exert absolute dominion over them, akin to any element of the natural world, indeed. Some years bestow upon us an abundant honey harvest. Other years are fraught with adversity, resulting in the loss of half of the hive. There is considerable sorrow but also considerable delight, too, in simply toiling in the great outdoors with these sentient beings—a living, complex superorganism."