On a cold October morning, I puffed out my chest grabbed hold of the swing rope on the old oak tree. My older sister and brother teased that I couldn't, shouldn't - I'd get in trouble. But I felt brave that morning. Out I swung... Over the waters of Manitouwabing... and the thrill of the air beneath my feet and rushing through me almost drowned out the crack of the branch. And down I went at the farthest extension of the rope down into the cold rushing river. I still remember the sweater I wore, the corduroys. The squish of my socks in my sneakers as my sister and brother draped me like a criminal back up the hill to my horrified mother