"It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest and to ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?"
Throughout his years here, it was Carl Sandburg's custom to spend many afternoons on this granite outcropping, sitting in a rustic bentwood chair. On his lap rested a plain tablet of paper and a lead pencil which he sharpened with a favorite pocket-knife.
Thus equipped and cloaked with the serenity of this forest, he wandered through his memories of people and places, balancing the sound and power of each word. Amid these cool, dappled shadows, he crafted his poems.