sharing stories

  I was telling my wife a little about my childhood. We grew up together in separate states, she in Maryland and I in New York. When you think of Maryland, what comes to mind? Unless you live in the state, probably not much. I never gave it a thought to be honest about it. Mention New York  and most people think, New York City. Anyway, the point being she doesn't know much about where I grew up  and I don't know much about hers. Oh, we have shared memories over the last 36 years of marriage, but she has never been in my hometown. I did pass through hers on at least one occasion. 

 I lived on the edge of Northwest woods. That's the name given to a tract of land, you got it, north and west of the town. As a child it seemed like a forest but of course it isn't nearly that large. Winnie the Pooh lived in the hundred acre wood, I played in Northwest woods. I'm not certain how large those woods really are, Mapcarta, an internet resource says they are a forest. Not certain of the criteria for either one, but getting lost in the woods here. Anyway I was telling my wife about a path we used in the woods. There were footpaths in those woods that had been there for many years. Just who made them and why I couldn't say, just that they existed. They weren't game trails, too large for that, they were made by men. 

 One of them began directly across from my front door. I always liked to think of them as trail made by Indians. I only lived a short distance from Soak Hides Dreen, a place known to be used by the Indians for the purpose indicated by its' name. The path I used didn't lead there however, it was going in the opposite direction. However it came to be I was very familiar with it. As I said you could walk out my front door, cross the dirt road I lived on, and enter the woods through that path. You would walk just a short distance when you came to a fork in that path, a branch going off to the left and one to the right. It was in that area, under a large oak that you could find lady slippers in May and June, Mom loved those flowers. Rumor was they were illegal to pick, which made it that much more exciting. I would pick them and go straight home, not letting anyone see what I had. Not that there was anyone around to see anything, but it was exciting anyway. If I weren't looking for lady slippers I would continue on that path going to the left.  It lead to a small clearing. It was on the edge of that clearing that we, by we I mean my brothers and sister, had a tree house. Only we didn't call it a tree house, it was a tree fort. It wasn't very high up off the ground, not more than a few feet I'd say, but it was cool. It was built using three trees that had grown in a cluster. Two by fours made the framing, nailed directly into those trees. The walls and roof were constructed with whatever materials could be had. Some of which was gained by illegal means. Yes, we pilfered it! 

 We knew of a stash in a shed. It was at the end of that dirt road we lived on and was only used by the summer people. There was this artist, I only knew his name as Pablo, that had his summer residence there, and that shed was his studio. This was in the sixties and he was painting those large abstract paintings on sheets of what appeared to be thin plywood covered with canvas. After he had left for the winter they would become the walls, some pre-painted! The next spring we heard rumors that the Police were looking for stolen artwork! We got carpeting from somewhere and carpeted that tree fort ceiling to ceiling. Even then I remember being nervous and avoiding that tree fort for a while, you know, until the heat was off. All of that was over fifty years ago now. I expect someone discovered our tree fort and speculated about that at one time. Maybe remnants of it are still there. I doubt that though, there is a house built right where that path began. My house has been torn down and I assume a replacement home built in its' place. 

 Now if you went right on that path it lead to another small clearing. It was in that clearing that my brothers and I dug a rather large hole or pit. Probably eight foot by four foot or so. It was definitely larger than a grave, I remember when we were digging it we thought about that. It was maybe six foot deep when it was first completed. There was a tunnel like entrance on the west end. The top of the tunnel and the hole were covered with boards, fallen trees, and whatever else we could find. Now the largest animal in those woods would have been a deer. It never occurred to us, as kids, that a deer could fall through the roof and get hurt or trapped. We also never thought about it falling in on us when we were inside there. This was our underground fort. Yeah, we were big on forts, made snow forts too. This underground fort had niches dug into the walls to hold candles. It was great, well, until after the first hard rain anyway. That fort didn't last long before we abandoned it. Last I knew there was just a big hole in the ground. Something for someone to puzzle over. 

 I enjoy telling these stories to my wife, and to be honest about it,  anyone that will listen. When I do I am walking down those paths, picking the flowers, hiding in the forts. The stories are really for me and I think that is true for a lot of us. That's why we call it sharing, after all. We aren't giving you the story, we are sharing the story with you, but the best parts I keep for myself. Maybe that's why our stories get embellished over time as well. We like to add a little something extra, spice it up a bit, even your favorite food can get boring. You know I saw aliens in Northwest Woods one time, aliens from outer space, not Mexico, but that is another story to tell. I wasn't alone, had a friend with me that night, he saw them too. Well, as I said, another story for another day.