Midlife Musings: Forts & Mudpies

When was the last time you built a fort? Just pulled all the cushions off the couch, threw a blanket over them, and crawled into your happy little cave. When was the last time you "played kitchen" in the backyard? Whipped up some mudpies and bark chunk chicken and garnished it with weeds and a few blades of grass.

About a year ago I realized I had a problem. No, not that one. My problem was I wanted to make a fire, but I didn't have any firewood. Trivial enough but for the fact that I had neither a job nor the prospect of one. The idea of calling the guy to order some seemed irresponsible since the only thing we were burning was our savings. So I decided to take matters into my own hands. Seemed reasonable enough. We live right next to some woods after all and I had reached that point in my relationship with Netflix where each login began with that condescending "watch it again" suggestion which I took as them blatantly calling attention to my indolence, "Dude, we've got nothing left for you, just start over."

So after six tries, I found a pair of pants that (sort of) fit and off I set for the little path that connects my yard to the woods. I don't recall exactly what I was thinking, but given that all I had with me was a pair of gloves it is safe to conclude I assumed the tree gods had just sprinkled firewood all over the forest floor for me. As it turns out, how generous the tree gods had been was not going to be a concern for some time. I was in for a life lesson.

When I moved in decades ago the woods were about 30 feet from my property line. There was a chance a road and more houses would go up so I cheerfully planted a row of white pines along the edge of my yard. Over the years the pines grew and took shape, and without me even noticing the most undesirable species in the woods slowly drew ever closer. I'm sure I noticed from time to time, and I'm sure had I done something about it when I noticed it would have been quite easy to fix. Instead, I repeatedly put it off for another day until here I stood, in my moment of need, facing an impenetrable wall of neglect. A bit of twisting and bending further revealed that while my pines looked wonderful from the outside they were, in reality, a tangled web of dead branches and poison ivy. They were more dead than alive.

But I had my gloves. And my resolve. And I wanted a fire. I started with the first tree snapping off every dead twig and branch I could reach. Before long I had done all I could with just my hands so I went to the shed and got a saw (and safety glasses) and attacked the larger branches. As I climbed higher, cutting and tossing, it dawned on me that I was starting to collect firewood. So I pressed on. That night I slept like a log (couldn't resist) and the next morning I nearly sprinted to the second tree. On it went for the next week - snapping, climbing, cutting (undeterred by the bee stings and poison ivy) - until I had reclaimed all nine of my beautiful pines and amassed quite a collection of firewood.

One day, as I was stacking my bounty, I noticed a knot in a log that stuck out like a funny nose and I was inspired. I trimmed the log down and glued wooden eyes above the nose, but I was at a loss when it came to hair so I headed to, of all places, Lowe's. And there it was. In the Cart of Misfit Succulents, where some monster apparently banishes those deemed not pretty enough for the regular cart, I found the perfect thing. After many failed attempts I taught myself how to make a large enough hole to plop the tiny pot in, and it was wonderful. So I gave it to my daughter. And then I realized that little pot hole was the same size as the tea lights I had (don't ask). So I started making holes in other logs and putting different color tea lights in them. And then I started attaching logs with tea lights to other logs with other tea lights. And then I started making wall art with all manner and shape of wood slices and branches. And then I made a clock for my son and a stool for me and on it went.

And almost every night I had a fire. I had so many fires with all those dead branches that they are all gone. But Spring is here and although there are no more dead branches in the pines, the old path to the woods is wide open because I took care of that too. I know now that the tree gods won't make it easy, but no matter - I've got my gloves. And my resolve. And I want a fire.

Ten years ago this would have been just a story and a really weird one to share at that, but I've reached the age where simple experiences increasingly feel allegorical and the commonality in our journies is abundantly clear. My past year has taught me that it was not too late to reclaim the important spaces I'd allowed time and distraction to oh so gradually steal from me. I'll close with a tip: if you decide you're going to take some things back, you don't need to start in the middle, drilling holes for plants and candles. Start way back at the beginning - make yourself a fort and some mudpies.