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'FORTRESS of SOLITUDE'  Hey, maybe even animals need tree forts! |
Danger? We didn't know the meaning of the word
of TheColumnists.com
While thumbing through the pages of “The Dangerous Book for Boys” at the local Barnes & Noble the other day, I came across a section concerning the building of tree houses. Would this be considered “dangerous”? Maybe. Would it be considered “fun”? Absolutely!
We had tons of fun building these “fortresses of solitude” bungalows when we were kids, but we didn’t just apply our ingenuity to the trees. We conquered the swamps and the earth itself with only the passion that unsupervised boys can bring to the table.
Our first fort was indeed a tree fort. A vacant lot near my home yielded the ideal location for building a fort. Four birch trees had grown up forming a perfect 6 by 6 foot square. The trees were close enough to attach the scrap lumber--at least I think it was scrap--that we collected from a nearby housing project. Our main platform was about 15 feet off the ground with 5 foot walls all around. We nailed 2 by 4 rungs up one of the trees so we could climb up to the entrance in one wall and crawl through the attached burlap that covered it. We had no roof because it was summer and who cared?
Our perch in the sky offered a view of the neighborhood that came in handy when, on occasion, we would find ourselves pouring over the literary classics that someone would heist from their father’s collection of Las Vegas Follies programs.
Life was good until the big boys found our tree fort one day and just for kicks, tore it down. We were devastated when we saw it but our spirits regrouped with a new plan--a swamp fort.
There was a pond about the size of a tennis court not more than a block from our last endeavor. It would be more difficult for the big boys to find this spot because it nestled almost in the center of a patch of cottonwood trees and scrub brush. The Aztec capital “Tenochtitlan” had nothing on us.
We commandeered some hip waders and proceeded to build a platform in the middle of the pond. It took about a week to complete the structure and make it sturdy enough to stand on. At first glance, it kind of resembled one of those over-the-water huts in Bora Bora, but on closer inspection, looked more like something that a 12-year old would have built.
To us it was a fabulous structure and only the use of hip waders could get us to it. The big boys left us alone for the rest of the summer. It must have been too much of a bother for them to procure waders specifically to destroy our fort.
Life was good until the first freeze. The water that protected us so well turned to ice allowing the big boys to simply walk in and destroy our stronghold. It was time to move on.
The next spring, we finally found the perfect spot in an open field near our local grade school. We decided to change our tactics a third time so we went underground.
With picks and shovels we began to dig the earth with vigor. After several hours of frenzied activity, we came to the conclusion that it would be a real slog to dig down the six feet we envisioned. The clay hardpan seemed like concrete and every inch down was paid for in sweat and pain. Being young and dumb was probably an asset at that time because anyone with half a brain would have thrown in the towel and headed off in search of more sensible endeavors. But we kept digging.
It was a week later that we finally stood back to marvel at our latest stronghold and it was a marvel in every sense of the word. Scrap plywood and two inches of sod covered a pit that measured 10 feet by 8 feet and 6 feet deep. A small section of the roof could be slid back to allow us entry. Once inside, no one could see us.
We hung out in that fort for most of the spring until something unexpected happened: We discovered girls and hanging out in a hole in the ground instantly lost its appeal.
I wish that I could remember anything about the fort after that but I can’t. It was only a few years ago that I decided to take a walk on a city trail that skirted the area where we had dug so furiously. The fort had mostly filled in over the last 45 years and it now looked like a small pond with trees around the edge. The sides had fallen in years ago and now it was probably no more than a couple of feet deep. I stopped to watch a couple of kids trying to catch tadpoles in the water.
“Any luck, kid?” I yelled.
One of them turned to me with a giant grin on his face.
“Are you kidding me, mister," he said. "This is the best pond for tadpoles in the whole neighborhood.”
I continued my walk around the pond and on down the trail. As I made my way back to my car I smiled to myself; all that digging might have been worth it after all.
©2008 by Kent Holsather. The illustration is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted Feb. 11, 2008.
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