Can you remember back when you were a kid? I know you can because even I can remember back that far.

My brother, some neighbors and I would spend hours in the woods, creek, river, or on bicycles and be gone all day.

We would while away the day building forts in the woods, against a mud bank, ditch or tree. Sticks, boards, nails and whatever we could find would end up hiding us in a secret spot that nobody could find — nobody.

If it was cold out or not, we sometimes made an Indian fire, small but smoky, just enough smoke to gag us and send all out of the “hideout.” I don’t to this day know why we didn’t burn the woods down.

Another fascination was the creek. I bet that was the best draw of the out of doors. The small creatures that would elude our fingers and traps, how the silt traveled down the riffles from our homemade dams and the ship sticks we tried to sink with the bolder bombs of war.

How about the spears and crudely fabricated bows and arrows? I know Dad lost a lot of plumb-bob line to the bows to fortify our “hideout” to say nothing about his dowel rod supply.

When I take my grandchildren into the woods, and identify scat, poking it around identifying what the animal had eaten or seeing the different colored, shaped, and types of rocks or seeing how many trees they can differentiate from, I thank God I was able to stay out all day when I was a kid.

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