I grew up at the base of a mountain. Between my house and
the mountain was a large forest of dwarf oak and maple trees under a bluff. Almost every spare minute of my childhood was
spent down in those woods. In those days
there were no video games or VCR's or DVD's or even CD's. If we wanted to watch a television show, you
had to turn on the TV at the right time and watch it. There were no DVR's to record your favorite
shows when you were not there. In fact,
we never had a color television until my family moved away from the mountain to
the country years later.
So what did I do for fun?
There was a big pack of us kids that would go into the forest under the bluff and build
tree huts, hideouts, chase rabbits, pheasants, deer and anything else we could
find. One of my favorite memories was of
finding a dead skunk and interring the smelly remains in a rival gang's
hideout. Good times, I know.
We learned important things about life in those woods--the
first being how to find your way out when it was time to go home. My dad used to stand on the bluff overlooking
the forest and whistle when it was time to go home. When you heard the whistle, it was time for dinner. There was a large power line tower in the
middle of the woods that had been erected long before we made those woods our
own. The engineers that had put it in
had cut their way into the forest and built the tower in the middle of the woods. You always knew exactly where you were
because of the tower. If you got lost,
you oriented on the tower and you quickly found your way back.
The second thing you learned in those woods was to look
before you leaped because when the engineers built the power line, they cut
their way into the forest to do it. What
they left behind was a narrow trail they used to get their equipment and
materials into the woods--that and hundreds of dwarf oak trees that had been
cut off about two inches above the ground -- just high enough to trip you up as
you were bolting down the trail with a lungful of youthful air in your chest. Tripping
and landing on hundreds of severed stumps was not the fun time you would think
it is. Dwarf oak trees are not very big
around--only about an inch across. They probably get to be about ten feet high
as their maximum height so when they are cut down, they leave a tiny little
stump that hides in the weeds and grass and snatches at your tennis shoe when
you least expect it. You trip and down you go and where there is one stump,
there are more and they are sharp.
How many skinned knees did I get down there? How much blood did I leave behind?
There were millions of things to do in the woods below the bluff but we always started off with the dead deer. The deer had gotten shot during hunting season but had escaped to bleed to death at the edge of the woods. Every time we would go into the forest, we would make a beeline to look at the rotting corpse. We would carefully examine the legs, ribs, spine,
head, mouth and teeth--preferably down wind. The dead deer was a
landmark--like the Eiffel Tower or the Grand Canyon
or the tower. You sniffed and
you instantly knew where you were. Like
I wrote before, good times.
We were not the only gang to frequent the woods but we were
the most successful judging by the number of tree huts and hideouts that we
built. There was the tire hideout (named because of a flat tire that had
somehow made its way into the forest), the cliff hideout, named
because of the cliff at one end of the forest that we used to clamor around
on, and the three maple trees
hideout where three maples trees had grown together. Maple trees made excellent locations for building a hideout. They were strong and big and easy to
pound nails into.
Building materials for hideouts were precious and we quickly
learned to conceal our tracks and to build hideouts as far away from the trails as
we could so that rival gangs would not grab our materials and use them for
building their structures. Once we located another gang's hideout, we would sneak
into their territory and grab the best materials and leave a surprise behind
for them to find -- like the dead skunk or a spare dead deer (there were always
lots of dead deer because of hunting season).
There was nothing better than scoring a perfect sheet of plywood and
then sitting a deer at their table with a plate, glass and knife and the remains of a peanut and jelly sandwich. Once
we even wired a dead skunk to their door so when they opened it, down swung the bloated skunk
corpse and gave them a pleasant surprise. It only worked once but when it
worked, it really worked!
So why do young boys love dead things so much? Being at the
ocean here in San Carlos, Bryce immediately veers towards any remains on the beach. The more "dead" it is, the more
interesting it becomes. His favorite
thing to look at is dead crab remains--mostly because the claws remain mechanically intact. Even dead, they can still grab things and are loads of fun. The more it smells,
the better. The last time we were here, he spent a good part of the week with a
dead stingray like they were both extras in the movie Weekend at Bernies. The stingray went on adventures. It played trucks and cars and built forts.
The skin was rubbery that it held up well to the rigors of playtime.
Ever morning here at San
Carlos, we go for walks along the beach and Bryce
would eagerly look for new prizes to take home.
On Wednesday, we found a dead adult seal on the beach and he had a blast. The seal was big
-- about as long as I was tall and it weighed a lot more. The first thing we
did was to make sure that the ocean wouldn't take the seal back by putting lots
of rocks between the seal and the ocean. It was only after we were done that I
realized we had just stranded a dead seal in front of someone's expensive
beach house. Can you imagine arriving here for a week of rest and relaxation
and not being able to go outside because there was a rotting seal at your door?
The good news is that just like the dead deer in the forest,
we can always orient ourselves on the beach by the smell!
Can you read his lips? I think he said, "wow!"
Bryce the conqueror!
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