Our cabin is tiny but sturdy. My grandfather and father fell the trees from the property in which it stands. They labored to prepare the logs to be chinked together. Years have passed by. My husband and I have raised our boys here. The mountains that stand tall and majestic behind us our well-known. The kids wore trails from the back door to the top of Mt. Saint Claire, our name for it only, of course. But overnight the mighty mountains disappeared. Perhaps the fog stole them or maybe the snow. But the hands of time will bring their return.