Should a man wish to pen a story of The Leatherwood, where should he begin? When angels sang and glory flooded the land with righteous delight? When First Nation sojourners found a hidden realm? When the first settlers braved an impenetrable wilderness frontier? When those that followed picked up tattered threads of civilization? When the very land itself was divided for gain?

I should be remiss to settle for such known methods of description.

Since The Leatherwood is so far more! Being the launching grounds for intrepid warriors, it is home to so much beyond that which anyone should know.

Or, for that matter, should ever know ...

The Leatherwood is desirously bountiful! It is more precious than I am allowed to willingly relate to those persons unworthy of truth. It can never be entrusted to the masses that know not the difference between righteous renegades and law-abiding fools. Between feigned love and outrageous passion. You see, all nuances of spirit are to be found within its borders.

The Leatherwood is a bastion of loves found in joyful abundance, as well as hopes deferred beyond a mortal’s ability to fathom.

As The Leatherwood flows immortal, so do the generations of those whom were born into the fortunate few families along its boundaries of living waters, just like those who know the beauty encased within their very own souls.

Yet, I must start our journey somewhere, both in time and place.

So, I choose a time when glaciers formed the earth.

At a place known as Rockville ...