22/29. It can’t be anymore than 100ft tall. There is the “hard” way, and just, “up Mt. Dan.” For 15 years this 100ft mountain, and its counterpart to the southwest, “Little Dan,” served as the jungle gym of our youth. The trail splits behind Dana. To her right, back towards the Faxon’s where we would retreat for breakfast. To her left, Little Dan, where we would wait in pine trees for the sun to disappear over the pond on the other side of the highway. A boy hung himself off the bridge on that pond once. On our side of the road, we hung around the small caves, over turned trees, and rocky outcroppings that almost killed us. Most of those times, I think it helped keep us alive. Out there, only a mile behind the house, we escaped from anything and everything - from chores to the small town politics that dictated rank in our school. On this April afternoon we hid out from the busy city and hung around with a deer who crossed this path at 6:30 a.m., and left to its own hiding place behind the pines.