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I know I’ve made it home when I step off the plane and a rush of cedar bark invades my senses. As I step onto the airport tarmac, I see the Stikine River and the tiniest airport terminal I have ever laid eyes on. I’ve returned for my annual summer vacation in Wrangell. Once a small yet vibrant logging and fishing community which has long since diminished, leaving a population of roughly 2,000, what could make a town double in size for two weeks out of the year? That’s simple, the best Fourth of July celebration of my life. The Fourth is the t...