by Rusty W. Mitchum
You know what I don’t see much of anymore? Forts. No, not the kind in the cowboy movies, but the kind kids used to make. Of course, it may be that they just have them hid too well. The forts we used to build were not what you would call eye-pleasin’, by any means. Heck, we didn’t even have a saw, so boards were stickin’ out all over the place. There was not a nail that wasn’t bent over. Of course, we drove them in with the side of the hammer (somethin’ I still do).
To build a proper fort, you must first get you some buildin’ materials. This could be anything from real lumber, “borrowed” from your dad’s shop, to an old quilt found in a trash dump. The quilt, as you know, will be the roof of your fort. After you’ve got all the stuff you need, then it’s time to find a location. It seems like you would find the location first, but you have to remember, kids don’t think like adults, they’re smarter. The buildin’ site is usually located close to where the materials are, so you don’t have to drag them too far.
The fort is then built at the base of a large tree. The tree serves as shade, as well as a place for your lookout to sit and watch out for girls, or rovin’ parents, who might catch you chewin’ tobacco, smokin’ grapevine, or somethin’ worse. The only drawback to bein’ next to a tree, is that when you dig, you have to contend with roots. Oh yes, I said dig. You see you have to dig a hole first, and then build the fort over it. That way you stay cool down in the dirt
You know what I don’t see much of anymore? Forts. No, not the kind in the cowboy movies, but the kind kids used to make. Of course, it may be that they just have them hid too well. The forts we used to build were not what you would call eye-pleasin’, by any means. Heck, we didn’t even have a saw, so boards were stickin’ out all over the place. There was not a nail that wasn’t bent over. Of course, we drove them in with the side of the hammer (somethin’ I still do).
To build a proper fort, you must first get you some buildin’ materials. This could be anything from real lumber, “borrowed” from your dad’s shop, to an old quilt found in a trash dump. The quilt, as you know, will be the roof of your fort. After you’ve got all the stuff you need, then it’s time to find a location. It seems like you would find the location first, but you have to remember, kids don’t think like adults, they’re smarter. The buildin’ site is usually located close to where the materials are, so you don’t have to drag them too far.
The fort is then built at the base of a large tree. The tree serves as shade, as well as a place for your lookout to sit and watch out for girls, or rovin’ parents, who might catch you chewin’ tobacco, smokin’ grapevine, or somethin’ worse. The only drawback to bein’ next to a tree, is that when you dig, you have to contend with roots. Oh yes, I said dig. You see you have to dig a hole first, and then build the fort over it. That way you stay cool down in the dirt
One of the best forts we ever built was completely underground. We dug a big hole, and then covered it with boards. We then covered the boards with dirt. We called this fort “The Hole”. This was a great hideout, except when it rained. Then it became “The Swimmin’ Hole”.
Every day, we’d all meet down at The Hole, and draw straws before we entered. You see, it was real dark down there, and there was no tellin’ what might have crawled in there durin’ the night. Greg, my cousin Coy, Little Rusty, his little brother Wee Whoa, and I were in on the drawin’. Well, all except Wee Whoa. Bein’ the youngest, he didn’t get the same privileges that we older and wiser boys did. His real name was Randy Joe, but when he was a baby, he tried to say his name and it came out, Wee Whoa, so the name stuck. Although he was left out on the drawin’, he did play a big role in the results. You see, whoever drew the short straw got to grab Wee Whoa and shove him down in The Hole. Hey man, you have to pay a price to run with the big boys.
After we were sure we had no unwanted visitors, we, includin’ Wee Whoa’s dog Bones, would all cram into our new hideout to sit around and talk. Well, all except Bones. He didn’t talk much.
“Move over,” said Coy.
“I can’t,” said Little Rusty. “Somebody’s knee is in my back.” He then elbowed the knee.”
“YEEOWWW! I yelled. “Hey Man, that was my head.”
“Sorry.”
“Man, we need some light in here,” said Greg.
“No, we need some more room,” said Coy.
“PEEE-EW! That dog stinks!”
“That wasn’t the dog,” said Wee Whoa, and then he smiled. We vacated the fort. Little Rusty hit him.
“I’m tellin’ ya, we need some more room,” said Coy.
“Not if we kill Wee Whoa,” said Greg.
“He already smells dead,” added Coy.
“Hey,” I said. “Let’s dig a tunnel, and then make another room at the end.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Coy, and everyone else nodded their heads.
Since our tool inventory was limited, we took turns scoopin’ out the dirt with an old coffee can, inchin’ our way along. In no time, we had progressed several feet. The tunnel’s ceilin’ was only about six inches from the surface of the ground, so the inevitable finally happened.
It was Wee Whoa’s turn to dig. He had most of his body head first and face down in the tunnel diggin’, while the rest of us were topside restin’.
Then we heard, “FUMP!”
“What was that?” asked Coy.
“Sounded like it came from the hideout,” I said.
“Wee Whoa! I told you to cut that out!” Little Rusty yelled down into The Hole. Then we noticed the ground above the tunnel had sunk considerable.
“A cave in!” yelled Greg. We jumped up, ran over, and started diggin’ furiously.
“I’ve got his legs!” yelled Coy. Greg was diggin’ at the other end.
“I found somethin’,” he yelled.
“Wee Whoa?” I asked
“No,” he said. “Look, it’s an arrowhead.” We stopped diggin’ to look.
“Neat,” said Coy. “I wonder if there’s any more around,” and we started siftin’ through the dirt.
“Hey, you idiots!” yelled Little Rusty. “My little brother’s still down there, and if we don’t git him out, my mom might get mad.”
“Okay, okay,” said Greg. “Don’t get your drawers in a wad. We’ll get him out.” Reluctantly, we returned to diggin’.
“I’ve got ahold of his ears!” yelled Greg.
“Okay,” said Coy. “On three, lift him up. One…..two…..THREE!” Greg grunted, and managed to get Wee Whoa’s head pulled up and back. Wee Whoa spit out a fist sized dirt clod, and started spittin’ and sputterin’. Little Rusty brushed the dirt off of Wee Whoa’s face, while Greg held his head up by his ears. The back of his head was almost touchin’ his shoulder blades.
Greg looked into Wee Whoa’s eyes. “Guess What!” exclaimed Greg. “I found an arrowhead.’
“Are you all right?” Little Rusty asked his brother.
“You’re breakin’ my neck,” grunted Wee Whoa.
“Let go!” Little Rusty commanded Greg. Greg let go. Wee Whoa’s face catapulted back down into the dirt.
“Boy,” said Greg. “Talk about ungrateful.”
Well, we got Wee Whoa out, semi-cleaned up, and made him promise not to tell his mother what happened. The only good thing that came out of the whole situation was that arrowhead. We all went up to Cope’s Country Store, and Greg traded it to Mr. Cope for a king size Coke. We all took turns drinkin’ it. Wee Whoa’s turn was last, and he got the back-wash.
Hey man, that’s the price you pay for runnin’ with the big boys.
Every day, we’d all meet down at The Hole, and draw straws before we entered. You see, it was real dark down there, and there was no tellin’ what might have crawled in there durin’ the night. Greg, my cousin Coy, Little Rusty, his little brother Wee Whoa, and I were in on the drawin’. Well, all except Wee Whoa. Bein’ the youngest, he didn’t get the same privileges that we older and wiser boys did. His real name was Randy Joe, but when he was a baby, he tried to say his name and it came out, Wee Whoa, so the name stuck. Although he was left out on the drawin’, he did play a big role in the results. You see, whoever drew the short straw got to grab Wee Whoa and shove him down in The Hole. Hey man, you have to pay a price to run with the big boys.
After we were sure we had no unwanted visitors, we, includin’ Wee Whoa’s dog Bones, would all cram into our new hideout to sit around and talk. Well, all except Bones. He didn’t talk much.
“Move over,” said Coy.
“I can’t,” said Little Rusty. “Somebody’s knee is in my back.” He then elbowed the knee.”
“YEEOWWW! I yelled. “Hey Man, that was my head.”
“Sorry.”
“Man, we need some light in here,” said Greg.
“No, we need some more room,” said Coy.
“PEEE-EW! That dog stinks!”
“That wasn’t the dog,” said Wee Whoa, and then he smiled. We vacated the fort. Little Rusty hit him.
“I’m tellin’ ya, we need some more room,” said Coy.
“Not if we kill Wee Whoa,” said Greg.
“He already smells dead,” added Coy.
“Hey,” I said. “Let’s dig a tunnel, and then make another room at the end.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Coy, and everyone else nodded their heads.
Since our tool inventory was limited, we took turns scoopin’ out the dirt with an old coffee can, inchin’ our way along. In no time, we had progressed several feet. The tunnel’s ceilin’ was only about six inches from the surface of the ground, so the inevitable finally happened.
It was Wee Whoa’s turn to dig. He had most of his body head first and face down in the tunnel diggin’, while the rest of us were topside restin’.
Then we heard, “FUMP!”
“What was that?” asked Coy.
“Sounded like it came from the hideout,” I said.
“Wee Whoa! I told you to cut that out!” Little Rusty yelled down into The Hole. Then we noticed the ground above the tunnel had sunk considerable.
“A cave in!” yelled Greg. We jumped up, ran over, and started diggin’ furiously.
“I’ve got his legs!” yelled Coy. Greg was diggin’ at the other end.
“I found somethin’,” he yelled.
“Wee Whoa?” I asked
“No,” he said. “Look, it’s an arrowhead.” We stopped diggin’ to look.
“Neat,” said Coy. “I wonder if there’s any more around,” and we started siftin’ through the dirt.
“Hey, you idiots!” yelled Little Rusty. “My little brother’s still down there, and if we don’t git him out, my mom might get mad.”
“Okay, okay,” said Greg. “Don’t get your drawers in a wad. We’ll get him out.” Reluctantly, we returned to diggin’.
“I’ve got ahold of his ears!” yelled Greg.
“Okay,” said Coy. “On three, lift him up. One…..two…..THREE!” Greg grunted, and managed to get Wee Whoa’s head pulled up and back. Wee Whoa spit out a fist sized dirt clod, and started spittin’ and sputterin’. Little Rusty brushed the dirt off of Wee Whoa’s face, while Greg held his head up by his ears. The back of his head was almost touchin’ his shoulder blades.
Greg looked into Wee Whoa’s eyes. “Guess What!” exclaimed Greg. “I found an arrowhead.’
“Are you all right?” Little Rusty asked his brother.
“You’re breakin’ my neck,” grunted Wee Whoa.
“Let go!” Little Rusty commanded Greg. Greg let go. Wee Whoa’s face catapulted back down into the dirt.
“Boy,” said Greg. “Talk about ungrateful.”
Well, we got Wee Whoa out, semi-cleaned up, and made him promise not to tell his mother what happened. The only good thing that came out of the whole situation was that arrowhead. We all went up to Cope’s Country Store, and Greg traded it to Mr. Cope for a king size Coke. We all took turns drinkin’ it. Wee Whoa’s turn was last, and he got the back-wash.
Hey man, that’s the price you pay for runnin’ with the big boys.