I grew up in a house that was directly across from a mountain. I mean directly across. If I were to talk out of my front door and keep going, I would end up going vertically after crossing the road. This caused many hours and days hiking, digging trenches, building swings, catching/running away from snakes, or, depending on the season, sledding.
But my favorite part about the mountain while I was growing up was The Grove. It was just seven houses south, and far enough up the hill that you felt adventurous, but close enough that you never felt vulnerable. I was just sure I was the only one to ever discover this place, and I considered it my own. The dozen or so trees provided shade from the beating sun, and families of birds and squirrels . There were several large rocks and stumps, perfect for resting on, and the different shapes and sizes of trees accounted for all sorts of imaginary appliances.
A little girl could truly be a princess in The Grove. Swinging around trees, leaping on boughs, The shadowy, mysterious leaves provided drama, romance, or terror, depending on the need for a particular story. Every imaginative child needs a grove.
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