{"id":13726,"date":"2020-05-08T09:00:00","date_gmt":"2020-05-08T14:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/leaving-leaf-river-by-hannah-kroonblawd\/"},"modified":"2026-05-04T12:01:43","modified_gmt":"2026-05-04T17:01:43","slug":"leaving-leaf-river-by-hannah-kroonblawd","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2020\/05\/08\/leaving-leaf-river-by-hannah-kroonblawd\/","title":{"rendered":"Leaving Leaf River"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong>Leaving Leaf River<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Hannah Kroonblawd<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The dining room\u2019s hardwood floor was waxed so mirror-like that Rebekah could see her face reflected off it. Mom had never put down a rug, thinking it too expensive or too stuffy or too much like Jenna Fairchild\u2019s dining room, all cut glass and crystal. Jenna Fairchild was the epitome of what Mom never wanted to become \u201ctoo stuck-up to recognize what kind of place she was stuck in,\u201d she would say, so wooden chairs slid dully across wooden boards at the beginning and end of each meal until each leg traveled in its own small valley. The realtor had advised hiring someone to sand and refinish the floor, \u201cspruce it up a bit,\u201d she\u2019d said, so Rebekah had called one of Jeremy\u2019s old friends from shop class and paid him three hundred dollars to erase those tracks, buff off thirty-five years to a layer of oak she\u2019d never seen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cSee?\u201d the realtor had beamed, \u201cSomeone is going to walk into this room and their jaw is going to drop and they\u2019re going to fall in love. Those tall windows and that gorgeous floor, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">It was what Rebekah wanted, of course it was: another person falling in love with this house, her house, her mother\u2019s house, her once-upon-a-fairytale father\u2019s house. Their house, tilted porch, lilac bush, weed patch.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cI know,\u201d she\u2019d told the realtor. \u201cOf course,\u201d she\u2019d told the realtor. \u201cThank you,\u201d she\u2019d told the realtor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">There was, Rebekah knew, nothing else to say. Someone had to be thanked, comforted, told it was going to be all right in the end. She had said those things to someone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">More than one someone. Funny how no one seemed able to say them back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\"><strong>***<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Jeremy hadn\u2019t been much help, except his recommendations of old friends who were still around and able to finish the renovations Rebekah couldn\u2019t do alone. Jeremy had always been hands-off, a bit flighty. Even during their two-year overlap in college, they only really saw each other when it was time to travel home. Jeremy got a job in the Cities, brought his kids to Leaf River every couple of months to spend time with Mom, cook pretend spaghetti dinners on the tiny plywood play stove that had stood for thirty years in the corner of the kitchen. Liz made the trip up once or twice, but Jeremy usually just brought along her excuses. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cIt\u2019s how the office is,\u201d he said one summer, sitting next to Rebekah on the porch swing while Mom and Izzy and Evan picked cucumbers in the vegetable garden. \u201cIt\u2019s just this season, all the extra paperwork coming in. We can\u2019t all be you, Beks, having so much time on your hands. Liz wishes she were here. You know she does.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Rebekah did not, in fact, know, and she thought that kind of wish highly unlikely coming from Liz, but she also didn\u2019t mind, not really, the here-and-gone nature of Jeremy\u2019s visits. And then Izzy and Evan were in elementary school, and then Mom was gone. There wasn\u2019t any sense for anyone to come up in the summer. Rebekah still spent Thanksgiving and Christmas at their house in the suburbs, but she felt like an interloper, like a pale spinster aunt in the corner of the parlor about to pull knitting needles out of her handbag, even if it was the Year of Our Lord 2019 and half the neighborhood was divorced. Instead of lending any kind of gentle middle-class normality to Rebekah\u2019s presence, however, the only outcome of the divorce statistic was that it spurred on Liz\u2019s matchmaking efforts. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cGuess who\u2019s newly single, Beks?\u201d Liz stage-whispered while washing dishes after the last family gathering. \u201cDan. Dan across-the-street, hot-dad Dan. You met him at Izzy\u2019s spring recital\u2014his daughter Lily is in ballet, too.\u201d She pointed a soap-bubbled hand at Rebekah. \u201cI can get you a date. Dan\u2019s a good guy, bought a motorcycle last year, but the divorce was Kendra\u2019s fault, not his. You\u2019d at least get a good dinner out of it. God knows the last time you went out, but you don\u2019t have to stay up in Leaf River. You can live a little, you know.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><em>Now that your mom is gone<\/em>, the unspoken end to the sentence. It didn\u2019t matter that it wasn\u2019t said. Rebekah could hear the echo. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\"><strong>***<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Once the decision was made, she googled <em>getting an old house ready to sell<\/em>. She read all of the articles: finding an agent, painting, decluttering. Tripped up on the \u201cdepersonalizing\u201d stage, but managed to take all of the photographs down. Her parents\u2019 wedding portrait, Mom holding baby Rebekah, Dad holding baby Jeremy and toddler Rebekah, five-year-old Rebekah holding three-year-old Jeremy, Rebekah and Jeremy on a trip to Otter Tail, up to their necks in sand,Rebekah\u2019s graduation, then Jeremy\u2019s. It was so easy to tell when Dad had left, when Mom was the only one to hold the disposable camera. One frame, he was there. The next, gone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Small towns up north, she read in more than one article, are a hard sell unless close to a lake big enough for speedboats and jet skis and ice fishing. Wadena, the next-closest town, was mildly famous for the time a deer wandered into Wal-Mart and was tackled by a guy from Deer Creek in the pet supplies aisle. Wadena County, she read on Wikipedia, was the poorest county in Minnesota and one of the poorest in the whole United States. Rebekah knew this,of course, had learned it freshman year at the U when she realized her roommate had never heard of Leaf River or Wadena or a consolidated school district or a first-gen student. All of her college friends had grown up in suburbs with names like Victoria and Excelsior, gone to prom at country clubs or on riverboats, spent summers at the movies and their family cabins. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She never told them, those girls who always seemed so freshly pressed, that the closest Wal-Mart to her house was an hour drive away; that though the clubhouse at Wadena\u2019s golf course had been renovated the year before, the senior prom committee decided, as it always did, to spend their budget on cheap beer, listed as \u201cbeverages: misc.\u201d on the spreadsheet, purchased by someone\u2019s older brother, and then smuggled into the locker rooms; that she\u2019d danced to a burned-CD playlist in the high school gym and then slid into a pickup with Seth Mallaghan, who followed the line of rusted-out cars and farm trucks to Inspiration Point at three o\u2019clock in the morning, a forty-five minute drive just to wait out the sunrise,the small blur of teenagers stumbling and laughing up the dark hill, everyone a little bit tipsy and a little bit sad and a little bit in love, even there, the poorest county. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\"><strong>***<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The first time the realtor walked through the house, she let out a breathy sigh every other room or so. \u201cAt least you have that built-in,\u201d in the kitchen. \u201cOh, replace that window, please,\u201d in the back bedroom. \u201cBetter to just sell without the washer or dryer, I think. No one will want those,\u201d in the basement. The realtor was from Wadena, a year or two behind Jeremy in school, married someone from Rebekah\u2019s class, and had three kids who sometimes trailed along on her home visits. She had the choppy, dyed-brunette look of soccer moms from the Cities, trying to hide her white-blonde Scandi roots, be more than what she was. A new Jenna Fairchild, Rebekah had laughed to herself once the realtor had gone, then startled at how much she sounded like her mother. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Mom had been happy living out her life in Leaf River, even if it wasn\u2019t a real town, barely a township, just the restaurant, the golf course, and the old schoolhouse. Rebekah didn\u2019t mind Leaf River either, as long as the Internet connection held up. The week after her college graduation, they ran a cable out to the house, an upgrade that wiped Mom\u2019s savings account. But that same week Rebekah got a remote job for a tech company in California. The best decision she\u2019d ever made was her computer science degree from the U, and second best was applying for a job that she could do anywhere. That she could choose to do in Leaf River. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Jeremy and Liz thought she had all these empty swaths of time, that it was a self-imposed isolation or some kind of monastic hermitage. But Rebekah happened to have a knack for coding. She could sit down, write out Python and HTML and JavaScript, and have the project done in two months when it might take another coder three. This was due in part to lack of distraction. Leaf River was so quiet, with so little to do. Liz was half-right about Rebekah\u2019s social life. But it was also the language of coding, the near-magic translation of it, building a system on a screen for someone else to use, to save someone\u2019s life. Her specialty was mapmaking\u2014GPS systems, satellite imagery, embedded directions. It became routine, just like everything else in life tended to do: driving into Wadena for groceries, taking Mom to get her haircut, pulling weeds, cutting the grass, stopping by the pharmacy for Mom\u2019s medications, shoveling the walk to the garage, coding for an EMS system project, testing the route of a tiny ambulance across the giant grid of a city, rerouting, rerouting again. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\"><strong>***<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cLeaf River,\u201d the realtor said, \u201cis listed as a ghost town. Kind of officially, if a ghost town can be official. If anyone reads anything online, they\u2019ll probably be scared off, so I\u2019ll list the address as Wadena. Then we can talk up the schools, at least, and the county seat. I\u2019m doing my best, but I\u2019d plan to be on the market a while, even with all the work you\u2019ve done. This isn\u2019t Minneapolis, you know. Or Duluth.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Rebekah didn\u2019t believe in ghosts, but sometimes she wondered. Even with the photographs taken down, Mom seemed to linger. Sometimes the garden would rustle, but no animals would emerge. She could sense Dad, too, though it was harder because she had to imagine him, no memories to rely on. Mom had never said much, just that he\u2019d been a good father and a good husband and the spinout on Highway 71 in the middle of January was just that, an accident. But Rebekah guessed that he was the kind of father who would have helped her sand down the floors and brush out the stain. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">It was Dad who bought the house in Leaf River after meeting Mom at a county-sponsored picnic in Wadena, Dad who hung the porch swing and planted the lilac tree. After Dad was gone and Mom started working at the county courthouse again, it was harder to keep up the house. And when Mom was sick and slowly getting worse, Rebekah didn\u2019t put thought to anything beyond the front room where Mom sat and watched for cardinals and blue jays out the windows. The front room got the best morning light, the curtains always a bright white, the end tables always dusted, the TV a muted blue light in the evenings. Rebekah brought her computer desk out from her bedroom and put it against the wall so she could work and still be with Mom, turning every so often to look at the lace of veins on the back of her hands, her thinning hair on the couch\u2019s armrest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">With the photos gone, the floor redone, the walls painted, the knickknacks packed away, it seemed like a different house. It wasn\u2019t the house where Rebekah had grown up or come home or watched her mother die. More than once she\u2019d woken up in the middle of the night and, on her way to the bathroom, had nearly gotten lost between the empty walls and the new light fixtures. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">Everyone asked, whenever she went into town, what she was going to do once the house sold. Most assumed she would move to the Cities, live close to Jeremy and the kids, become one of those childless thirty-somethings who get tattoos and go on weekend vacations and drink wine from stemless glasses. But Rebekah hadn\u2019t decided. She wanted to wait out the feeling that lingered the way Mom seemed to linger, that there was something left in Leaf River, something left to see or do or hear or brush up against. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">One Saturday she went to the new brewery in Wadena with a few high school friends, trying not to think of a night out as being on her list of \u201clast things\u201d as if another box to pack, and Seth Mallaghan was working the taps. He pulled out photos of his wife and daughter, and they talked about how warm the summer had been. Rebekah told him that she still thought about prom, sometimes, when she felt particularly nostalgic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">\u201cWhy you\u2019d ever want to think about our really, really bad dancing, Beks, is beyond me.\u201d Seth set her drink down on the bar. \u201cBut you\u2019re not wrong about Inspiration Point. I drove Ashley and Callie out for a little hike, and I was telling Ashley about that night, how stupid we were driving drunk out there. Half of us forgetting to turn on our headlights. But didn\u2019t we feel free, or something like it? Like we mattered, at least to each other, at least right then.\u201d Seth let out a laugh, shook his head. \u201cI always start to philosophize at the bar. Tell me to shut it, please.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">But she would have kept listening to him talk like that, about that place, that night, for at least a little while more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-medium-font-size\"><strong>***<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">The last thing Rebekah did, once the Internet was cutoff, the boxes packed into the moving truck and the house locked, was drive over the county line into Otter Tail, past the fields waiting for harvest and the scattered swatches of blue lakes,and park at the base of Inspiration Point. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">She didn\u2019t need to climb it again. She didn\u2019t even get out of her car. She just wanted to see it one more time, the winding path she\u2019d last climbed in the middle of the night, wearing a pastel dress and sequined sandals, the hill covered in oak trees, tall and green and alive. The wood beneath the bark of those trees the same kind of wood as the shining floors in the old house, someone else\u2019s someday, soon, no longer the ghosts\u2019, no longer her own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Hannah Kroonblawd<\/strong> is a PhD student at Illinois State University, where she teaches in the English department and studies Anthropocene poetics. A graduate of the MFA program at Oregon State University, her work can be found in Washington Square Review, Waters Deep: A Great Lakes Poetry Anthology, Puerto del Sol, and the Blue Earth Review, among others. Find Hannah on Twitter <a href=\"https:\/\/twitter.com\/hlkroonblawd\">@hlkroonblawd<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">&lt;&lt; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2020\/05\/21\/encounter-by-benjamin-kessler\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2020\/04\/27\/from-the-labor-cafe-in-warsaw-by-jeffrey-alfier\/\">Next<\/a> &gt;&gt;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n\n\n<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Leaving Leaf River Hannah Kroonblawd __________ The dining room\u2019s hardwood floor was waxed so mirror-like that Rebekah could see her face reflected off it. Mom had never put down a rug, thinking it too expensive or too stuffy or too much like Jenna Fairchild\u2019s dining room, all cut glass and crystal. Jenna Fairchild was the&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[252,25],"tags":[75,85,77,26],"class_list":["post-13726","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-boudin-2020","category-fiction","tag-boudin","tag-hannahkroonblawd","tag-mcneesereview","tag-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13726","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13726"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13726\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22336,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13726\/revisions\/22336"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13726"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13726"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13726"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}