Sand Pit

This is "The Sand Pit." I wish I knew how many pieces of old blue, faded and cracked Tupperware my sister, brother and I mistakenly abandoned in that place. We played there all the time. Sand pits like this can be found everywhere in Michigan. Every little lake community has at least one. But none of those were 'ours' so we didn't venture in. We couldn't. It's in the Sand Pit code of conduct. You stay out of ours and we won't go in yours. As far as we were concerned, this rule was respected. There was rarely anyone else there. Occasionally, a dump truck could be seen or heard rumbling in the distance. Grey-black plumbs of diesel smoke would give away their pre-dawn break-in. Most times, there was  never a sign of anyone, anything or any activity at all. The Sand Pit was an all but forgotten fixture at the cottage. A silent oasis, a steady respite and a constant, compliant vestibule of whatever game, story or land we could dream up.

This one was across the street and down a ways from my grandparents cottage on the lake. We would walk down the dirt and gravel road until we were in front of the neighbors white clapboard cottage and then turn right and go through the farm gate which was nothing more than a chain link rope drawn across a tractor path and fastened with a rusted nail bent in a arc. We walked to the right and down into the cow pasture. Getting there from here meant navigating the mine field of crusted cow pies and wading through the spaces of burning hot sand and dried, prickly field grass but it was worth it. There sat the Sand Pit - heaven! Once you dug deep enough, the sand was cool, malleable, form able and completely pure of anything sharp or thorny.

I'm fairly sure that my parents usually came with us when we went. Well, one of them anyhow. They always told us not to dig tunnels, My dad warned us that they might cave in and we would be smothered to death. Other than that, the Sand Pit wasn't dangerous. Oh, there was also Mr. McLaughlin's cows. They were also and unpredictable and intermittent albeit regular fixture. I was terrified of them. They were black and white, huge and uncontrollable as far as I could tell but they couldn't navigate the cliff, so I played there always - because they couldn't.

The best part about the sand pit is that we could go up to the top, climb over the edge and if we backed up a bit and got a running start (which was difficult because you had to simultaneously avoid, grass burrs, cow pies and jagged field rocks) we could jump off the edge and land in a soft pile of warm sand. The worst part, undoubtedly, the cow patties everywhere. You really had to pay attention 'cause man! those things were big, gross and nasty (and we usually had bare feet). If you've never stepped in one, I can't describe the awful combination of crunchy, warm sluggishness. If you have, then I don't need to say another word. There's nothing like it.

We always raided my grandmother's kitchen before we went to the sand pit. Jello molds were a major score. Deli containers, an old set of avocado, mustard and pumpkin colored salt and pepper shakers, plastic spoons, picnic cups, and bowls were the tools of our trade that served as castle building supplies and digging instruments. We had tunnels to excavate and some days, entire bodies to bury. We were busy.

We built the grandest fortresses. Inevitably, around the same time that our creativity and absorption really took hold to produce a truly awe-inspiring landscape, one or several of my grandfather's too-large pack of inbreed, dirty, usually-wet-from-their-expedition-into-the-lake mutt, hounds would find us.

It was as if they had been on their own expedition that day. A sort of scavenger hunt that included, chasing rabbits, checking on the neighbors dog, romping through the tall grass thicket in the back of the park, cooling off in the shallow reeds of the lake and finding our where we were. Their final coup de grace - trampling our castle into an unrecognizable pile of upturned buckets, fallen turrets, collapsed caves and broken bridges. They were so happy! Dripping, tail-wagging, barking, slobbering beasts.