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As a child I roamed the rocks. Cascading from one large boulder to the next over a natural obstacle course that line the shores of Lake Huron. The landscape was like nothing I had ever seen before and for hours and hours I would jump and run across racing my best friend until our tummies bellowed for replenishment. I fell entranced with these exotic wonders that fifteen years later still illuminates my mysticism and astonishment with nature. One boulder, called Bullard's or now more commonly, Turtle (it looks like a turtle), sits alone in the water, far enough offshore that once one ascends to the top, they can freely jump off the six or seven feet drop, only, to climb right back up, if grafted in the tireless days of youth. Others are aligned into meticulous routes requiring the expertise of a child who has spent his or her whole summer sifting over, under, and between the rocks. Another rock is called Chicken. The name is this because it stands about twelve or so feet above the water and many have been called "chicken" because they were suddenly overcome with fear and backed down. "The Rocks," as they have become familiarly known as, are the essential ingredient of a wholesome summer house community that fosters a reverence for nature and desire to interact with it. Here the possession of the land upon the shore is expensive and seemingly esoteric. Yet, I feel as though one cannot complain or disapprove of those whom own it. There is a buoyant characteristic in the people who live there that seems to celebrate, daily, the fact that they are so fortunate as to share in the beauty of this minute piece of Mother Earth.
The kids up here are free to explore the caverns and streaks under and between the rocks where they must crawl hand and knees to look up and see that brilliant brightness of the sun gleaming in through the trees. It is here, where I, myself, find a whimsical butterfly effect robust in my stomach and love emanating out for all.