When we weren't fighting, my little brother and I had great times playing make-believe. Growing up in rural Idaho offers lots of adventure for those with creative minds. On our grandparents' 12-acre property, there was a tiny copse of trees behind the houses that we used as our 'forest'. We were lost members of some tribe there, criminals on the run in hiding and who knows what else in that place. When we tired of that, we'd run down to the fields and get lost in the waist-high grass. When the grass was cut, we'd spend our time trying to jump up on top of the round hay bales. When we got on top, we'd try to jump to the next one if they were stacked in a line. I'll never forget the prickly feeling of straw in my socks and the smell of crushed grass in my nose, nor the partner-in-crime I've lost.