When I was about 11 years old we lived in a duplex right on the edge of town in an area being developed. Directly across the street was a large empty field, a perfect place for us neighborhood kids to play. With this huge field of dirt, all we needed was a shovel.
I provided that shovel, and we took turns digging. We all wanted to see just how big a hole we could make.
The project took weeks. At first, we called it The Hole, as in, “Let’s meet at The Hole after school.” “Mom, we’re going to go play out at The Hole.” “I did more work on The Hole than you did!”
This hole became quite large, and then someone came up with the coolest idea. With all the construction going on in the neighborhood there was plenty of wood around (scrap and otherwise) so day by day we were able to start covering this hole with a roof. As the roof was built, dirt was piled on top of it so that it couldn’t be seen. It was at this point it stopped being “The Hole” and became “The Fort.”
With the fort in place amid all the weeds and tall grass, it was the best place on Earth to stage mock battles. We armed ourselves with cap guns, squirt guns, plastic battle axes and swords, and then filled that field with wars, insurrections, rebellions and general free-for-all mêlées. The fort was a nexus for our little battles until summer, when a rival gang of kids (older and meaner) took it from us. Our interest in it waned, as we’d discovered new places to play (a creek with a railroad bridge, God help us) and so we finally gave up on the fort. We let the bullies have it.
Then I remember the day we spotted a Caterpillar tractor out in that field, lumbering and squeaking through the tall grass. I stood on my front lawn with my friends, watching in fascination as the tractor pulled its plow back and forth across the field, edging closer and closer to the fort with each pass. Then there was this magic moment when the tractor completely disappeared from our view. From across the field came a terrific Wham!
Little did we realize that we’d created the perfect tractor trap.
The tractor driver came up out of that hole hopping mad, and we ran. Later someone came door to door, inquiring about whose kids had dug the enormous hole in the field. My mom kept her mouth shut, no doubt fearing a lawsuit or something. Later it came out that the bullies who’d taken it away from us got blamed, and were in big trouble.
Ah, karma.
They had to have a big semi-truck looking rig come out and pull the tractor out of the hole. We stood on my front lawn watching that, too. Come next summer, they’d started building more houses there and soon the field was a block of brand new triplexes. It didn’t take five years for the whole area to deteriorate into a slum.
Frankly, I liked it better as a field.
This is an excerpt from my book, All This and a Bucket of Toads