We were visiting a family friend on his farm.

I remember running through the cornfield, towards the forest behind the farm.

We entered the woods, stepping over the rocks on the ledge.

Green floura grew through the cracks of the rocks reaching towards the warm golden sun. Yellow flowers began to bloom, dotting the ground how crystals sparkle in granite.

We follow the lightly tread dirt path.

I followed my brothers, thorns snagging on my skin. As we journeyed further into the forest.

They pointed out different creatures, I remember a fox scurrying across the trail.

The family friend led us up towards a cliff, off the trail. It was a small divot in the ground and tree roots seemed to encase it. He told the story passed on to him, of how the natives would use this spot as a lookout. He called it the Eagle’s nest.

I remember the view as I sat nestled in the lookout. You could see the lake shimmering in the bright summer sun. I could see over the trees and the roads leading to another barn. he pointed to it explaining that the lady who showed him this spot used to live there.

We continued down the path jumping from rock to rock. It was an old quarry. Me and my brothers climbed the side of the rock walls, the thrill of adventure racing through our veins.

We continued the hike, stopping to explore the deep crevices carved by the glaciers hundreds of years ago. We climbed the mossy rocks, going deeper, searching small caves, jumping over the ledges to the other side. It was a day I will never forget.