Getting Dirty

Old Garage. Magical play area around the end to the right . . .

New garage. Boring.

Just in front of the Old Garage was a magical place.

Okay, yes, it was technically part of the driveway.

Probably, in a normal world, not the best place to play.

But the Old Garage was really just a work room.

And seldom, if ever, used for actual . . . vehicles.

That was what the New Garage was for.

So the driveway in front was probably the safest place on the ranch.

Moving on . . .

The garage formed a wall along one side of our little play area.

With trees and/or bushes on two other sides.

And the winding driveway leading in.

Nestled among the bushes was the great propane tank, which supplied much-needed gas to the ranch houses.

And ensured that the immediate air would always have that little ‘tang’.

And sometimes substituted as a ‘horse’ when the need arose.

The dust/sand was deep in that particular spot.

And warmed by the sun.

Perfect for creating roads and castles and towns.

And just generally whiling away the hours in sunlit bliss.

Okay, yes, our ‘whiling’ was usually followed by, “Diane! What were you doing? Rolling in the dirt?!”

But it was worth it.

Moving ahead 50-plus years . . .

We have a sand box in our back yard.

I was watching some of the grandkids . . . playing.

They were digging and creating and generally having a great time.

One of them lay down on her tummy and proceeded to make a close inspection of the ditch she was digging.

Her mother looked over at her. “Bronwyn! Stop rolling in the dirt!”

And suddenly, I was four years old again.

Digging in the dirt with my brothers.

The occasional whiff of propane in the air.

And the sun warm on my back.

Full circle.

 

Three little girls - full circle.