When dawn breaks through the dull morning sky, the sun's rays fall on the crest of the white pines. My grandparents' house sits, tucked along the side of an old dirt road. The colors of the morning mosaic begin to rise on the horizon, the sun's rays peek through the treetops and shine, reflecting off the old rough cut lumber where my grandfather built our childhood treehouse, carved with his bare hands . He stamped his marks on every piece of the craftsman's lumber. The foundation of my childhood began here, the beginning of my independence. It was a place where my cousins ​​and I could escape, a piece of freedom away from adults, where we bonded over board games, books and the imagination of