A mile down the gravel road adjoining my grandfather's magical circus lots stood `The Wooden Fence.' This simple wooden fence marked a gateway into the woodland paradise that was called, Pine Grove. There, I explored the Minnesota landscape and scaled the tall trees to steal baby hunting birds for my brother, the Budding Falconer. There was always a risk, a danger, and an adrenaline rush of excitement; often, the raptors turned their ire on their caretakers.
Not all of my daring escapades occurred in the woodland but in and around the numerous local bars that were prevalent downtown. These adolescent adventures demanded a much more rambunctious set of rebel friends. Despite living under one of the strictest dads in town, I ran with those devils as he tried in vain to discipline his own renegade teen.