I returned several years ago to my childhood home, Rock Springs, Wyoming. Exiting the freeway, I was shocked at what a bleak spot of dirt the city had become. As the constant Wyoming wind blew dust on my face thru my rolled down window on that hot summer day, I started to doubt my reasons and sanity for returning to such a forlorn place. However I had just spent 4 hours driving there, so, I pushed on, hesitant but determined to complete my quest.
Rock Springs is a tiny speck of a town that, seen through adult eyes, would be considered the armpit of America. Sagebrush, sand and wind are the memories most people take with them as they pass thru on the I-80, usually stopping only for gas. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder because to my childhood eyes, it was paradise on earth. My early childhood memories from there are of happier, carefree days exploring the hills of my backyard, chasing horned toads, lizards and scorpions.
As I slowly drove around Bell View drive, the neighborhood I grew up in, much remained the same...other than it was considerably smaller than what I remembered. The tiny, sturdy, two bedroom homes haven't changed much. It’s hard to imagine that seven of us lived happily in one of those 600 Sq. ft. boxes. Yet we did. Not thinking, I parked my truck in front of my old home and immediately started to the hills through the backyard of the house.
No one stopped me, or questioned why I was trespassing through their yard. "I guess the old Fritch residence must still be the gateway to the neighborhood play ground" I thought to myself as I walked confidently through the yard. Did I notice a little more spring in my step as I started up the hill?
Initial Rock, a large sandstone boulder at the back of the old yard stood as the entrance to the hills. It still had the initials from the neighborhoods original children. Searching, I found the initials of my old playmates carved meticulouslyin the soft sandstone rock. The thousands of new initials from subsequent children made my task more difficult, but, somehow more satisfying, knowing the neighborhood registry was still being filled by new children eager to leave their mark on the world.
I wandered the valley of the dry wash that always filled with water and turned into a raging river when the cloud bursts came. An army of kids always rushed there after the storms. Armed with shovels, we built huge dams that always broke and flooded the homes below. No matter what new engineering experiments we tried. I wondered how many new dams had been attempted in the many years that followed my departure at age 7. Did any of their dams survive the raging water?
My brother Carl received an 8mm camera for Christmas one year. Several action thrillers starring the neighborhood kids were made in those days...he spent hours using a needle and magnifying glass to scratch Laser blasts and explosions in each individual slide of film....A testament to the genius of childhood...Who needs photo shop and computers when you have imagination.
My eye spied a tiny body half buried in the sand. Digging my hand into the dirt, I pulled out the 30 year old remains of a plastic army man, an MIA soldier of countless wars fought so long ago. Finally reunited, I stuff him my pocket and continue on past the still littered battlefields of a childhood gone.
The wind increased its intensity as I walked by the cactus pit below a sandstone cliff constructed by "bright" young minds so many years ago. Doesn't every young child think he can fly? Being young, but stubborn, I insisted I could jump off the ledge and clear the pit. My brothers reluctantly let me try to pass this important neighborhood rite of passage. I almost cleared it landing on the far side. However, my momentum did not carry me forward and I fell back into the pit. I still smart when I think of my mother pulling the hundreds of needles out of my back and butt, one by one.
Before I realize it, I take a few steps back and I AM flying over the pit. I smile as I clear it. The last rite of passage completed. My head swells with pride as I hike to and perch on top the remains of Fort Protection. The ruins of the castle where many battles had been fought still stand. Was that a new rock wall? I didn't remember that being there. Oh well, some childhood memories do fade.
I feel like a king, returning from a long crusade after finally completing his quest. After many years and stormy seas, I was once again home.
My solitude is broken by a rock flying by my head, hitting the wall of the fort... I lean down, take the stone in hand and think “who dares to intrude on my kingdom?" I look down the hill and a young 8 year old usurper, is challenging me for rule of the kingdom. "Well let the war begin" I unconsciously think as I cock my arm to return fire.
Before I release the stone, my senses return, and smiling, I beat a hasty retreat down the hill to the safe neutral zone of the neighborhood. The new king still honors the age old law and wanders back up the hill to his fort.
I jump in the truck and begin the long drive home. Baptized by the ever present Rock Springs sand that permeates every pore of my body, I am warm and content. I realize, childhood doesn't ever really end. Each new generation keeps it alive. Even in the age of Wii and Xbox.
Guard the kingdom well my young brother. "Second star to the right and straight on till morning."
Rock Springs is a tiny speck of a town that, seen through adult eyes, would be considered the armpit of America. Sagebrush, sand and wind are the memories most people take with them as they pass thru on the I-80, usually stopping only for gas. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder because to my childhood eyes, it was paradise on earth. My early childhood memories from there are of happier, carefree days exploring the hills of my backyard, chasing horned toads, lizards and scorpions.
As I slowly drove around Bell View drive, the neighborhood I grew up in, much remained the same...other than it was considerably smaller than what I remembered. The tiny, sturdy, two bedroom homes haven't changed much. It’s hard to imagine that seven of us lived happily in one of those 600 Sq. ft. boxes. Yet we did. Not thinking, I parked my truck in front of my old home and immediately started to the hills through the backyard of the house.
No one stopped me, or questioned why I was trespassing through their yard. "I guess the old Fritch residence must still be the gateway to the neighborhood play ground" I thought to myself as I walked confidently through the yard. Did I notice a little more spring in my step as I started up the hill?
Initial Rock, a large sandstone boulder at the back of the old yard stood as the entrance to the hills. It still had the initials from the neighborhoods original children. Searching, I found the initials of my old playmates carved meticulouslyin the soft sandstone rock. The thousands of new initials from subsequent children made my task more difficult, but, somehow more satisfying, knowing the neighborhood registry was still being filled by new children eager to leave their mark on the world.
I wandered the valley of the dry wash that always filled with water and turned into a raging river when the cloud bursts came. An army of kids always rushed there after the storms. Armed with shovels, we built huge dams that always broke and flooded the homes below. No matter what new engineering experiments we tried. I wondered how many new dams had been attempted in the many years that followed my departure at age 7. Did any of their dams survive the raging water?
My brother Carl received an 8mm camera for Christmas one year. Several action thrillers starring the neighborhood kids were made in those days...he spent hours using a needle and magnifying glass to scratch Laser blasts and explosions in each individual slide of film....A testament to the genius of childhood...Who needs photo shop and computers when you have imagination.
My eye spied a tiny body half buried in the sand. Digging my hand into the dirt, I pulled out the 30 year old remains of a plastic army man, an MIA soldier of countless wars fought so long ago. Finally reunited, I stuff him my pocket and continue on past the still littered battlefields of a childhood gone.
The wind increased its intensity as I walked by the cactus pit below a sandstone cliff constructed by "bright" young minds so many years ago. Doesn't every young child think he can fly? Being young, but stubborn, I insisted I could jump off the ledge and clear the pit. My brothers reluctantly let me try to pass this important neighborhood rite of passage. I almost cleared it landing on the far side. However, my momentum did not carry me forward and I fell back into the pit. I still smart when I think of my mother pulling the hundreds of needles out of my back and butt, one by one.
Before I realize it, I take a few steps back and I AM flying over the pit. I smile as I clear it. The last rite of passage completed. My head swells with pride as I hike to and perch on top the remains of Fort Protection. The ruins of the castle where many battles had been fought still stand. Was that a new rock wall? I didn't remember that being there. Oh well, some childhood memories do fade.
I feel like a king, returning from a long crusade after finally completing his quest. After many years and stormy seas, I was once again home.
My solitude is broken by a rock flying by my head, hitting the wall of the fort... I lean down, take the stone in hand and think “who dares to intrude on my kingdom?" I look down the hill and a young 8 year old usurper, is challenging me for rule of the kingdom. "Well let the war begin" I unconsciously think as I cock my arm to return fire.
Before I release the stone, my senses return, and smiling, I beat a hasty retreat down the hill to the safe neutral zone of the neighborhood. The new king still honors the age old law and wanders back up the hill to his fort.
I jump in the truck and begin the long drive home. Baptized by the ever present Rock Springs sand that permeates every pore of my body, I am warm and content. I realize, childhood doesn't ever really end. Each new generation keeps it alive. Even in the age of Wii and Xbox.
Guard the kingdom well my young brother. "Second star to the right and straight on till morning."
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