One afternoon along the Snake River in the northwestern United States, far from any towns or neighborhoods, a friend showed us something special he had found on a previous visit. There along the side of a great boulder was a little house made of rocks and sticks. The hut, built against the stone, was no more than two feet high. A path in proportion to the structure's dimensions led to the front door. There was no mortar, glue, or nails - and yet the 'hobbit house' was strong and sturdy and looked welcoming, if only we were 14 inches tall. However, we didn't touch it, as though we respected some invisible boundary and didn't want to trespass.