Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Ravages of War



The back yards undulated together, our house built on the tallest hill, Barry's house built in the lowest slew and old Missus Plurd's house in between; not to mention the eight others whose property lines all touched together. There was an old chain link fence to climb, a rope swing hung from a massive willow and a score of climbable crabapple trees alongside the 15 foot tall concrete wall that held back the Nestors yard so it wouldn't leak into mine. It was grassy yet shaded, open yet with plenty of places to hide. There were stacks of boulders and piles of bricks, sawn logs and even construction debris from the building of the O'Donnel garage. (Most of which was sneakily acquired so as to build the Davison memorial tree house and men's club)
 

It was a half acre wonderland, a place to re-wage world wars, capture pirates, bury dead wild birds and various family pets and play simple games like olly olly ox in free and a hundred variations of hide and seek. Even parachuting off Timmy's garage was a hoot, until we discovered a woolen blanket was a bit too porous to slow the descent of a big footed small brained child of the 60's and I spent a summer in a truly annoying, lightly humiliating plaster cast. But even that was lightweight compared to Timmy forcing his little brother, an evil blackhearted pirate, to walk "the plank", a 20 foot high ledge we'd sit on when we felt particularly brave, as punishment for high crimes and salty language. A six year old lets out quite a whoop when he hits the ground hard enough to crack four ribs, and mommy's take a dim view of big brothers with delusions of grandeur and zero common sense.


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