New Hampshire isn't called the Granite State for nothing. One thing my birthplace has in abundance is rocks. In its long history, New Hampshire has been the settling place of many peculiar and inert stony masses: the much-missed Old Man of the Mountain, weather-ravaged Mount Washington, and my big brother Doug, to name a few.
I love them all, but one conglomeration of rocks has captured my imagination — and a certain level of archaeological notoriety — for decades. I refer, of course, to the inscrutable landscape of stone and earth that locals still call Mystery Hill. You may know it as America's Stonehenge.
