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My dad (who died when I was just 25) was a sheep herder as a young buck, and he continued to make the most terrifyingly strong coffee … required that it boiled over at least twice before fit for drinking … in his beloved, awful-looking old coffee pot, for the rest of his 56 years. My thoughts: “Never had anything smelled so good, and tasted oh so rank, but that was before I learned what ELSE, my darling daddy drank.” Thank you for this memory.