When I was a child, each summer my parents would drive to my brother’s house. He had a 85 acre ranch along the Columbia River, across from The Dalles, Oregon on the Washington side. His house sat on a wide open field where his cattle would graze. Behind the house were outcrops of basalt columns rising from dry yellow grasses. My nephews and I would play among those outcrops. I loved that area and would imagine building forts between stacks of rock. This is the playgrounds of my youth.