The story of Bentari came about quite naturally. As a boy, you couldn’t keep me out of the neighborhood trees. The wooded glens of Laurelhurst Park just two blocks from home were my forests, and I was helpless to resist their call. We climbed trees. We scaled them with ropes; we shinnied up trunks; we stretched for the far branches. We even had one favorite ash tree with an angled trunk. It could be climbed by running right up to the lowest forks if you got up the proper head of steam and were agile enough to plant each foot inline. Otherwise, a nasty spill shook you up, but it was the ribbing that really got you.
In the 7th grade, when it was time for shop class (officially, Industrial Arts) to learn about tools and the wonderful things a boy could do with machines, my mind stayed outdoors—where I could run and climb; where I found freedom without the need for lubrication.