The Magic Forest
As new houses crept down Clinton Avenue toward the city limits, progress missed a beat just down from the girls house. A modest patch of mid-western deciduous forest stood undeveloped. The stand of trees was parted only by a grassy two track lane disappearing into the darkness. The land belonged to the man the girls would know as "Old Man Langel." Old Man was spoken as if it were his first name, never Mr. Langel. His occupation, hermit.
Two theories arose as to the motivation for his hermitage. He had been a WWI veteran and suffered from shell shock. Post traumatic stress disorder is what it is called today. He took the money he was given for his service, bought the woods and retired from the world. The other theory is that a house fire in town killed both his wife and child. In his sorrow and grief, he took his insurance money, bought the woods and retired from the world. I still don't know if either of these stories is true. The stories did produce in the girls a sense of tragic sympathy for the old, lonely man cycling through the seasons of their youth.
What the girls did know was that the man did not welcome company or conversation. Stories swirled around about shot guns loaded with rock salt and readily discharged if anyone cared to challenge this theory and pay him a visit. The girls observed this old man from a safe distance as he rode by their home on his bicycle occasionally with his shot gun across the handle bars. On trash day he could be observed more closely as he stopped to examine the throw-aways that could become useful items. The neighbor claimed that she had been startled to find him peering into her window. He struck fear, wonder, mystery and imagination into the childish minds of the girls, which of course they found thrilling.
Jackson Woods (
At the edge of the neighbor boy's house the girls discovered a beaten path leading into the woods. A path invites a child like a magnet. No question arose in their minds as their legs carried them into the damp and sun dappled shadows. The ferns brushed their legs as a small shallow pond came into view. The unfamiliar sound of croaking frogs stopped them in their tracks. The girls imaged monsters of all sorts. Frozen in a state of indecision as to whether to continue or flee, the voices of other children rose above the din of croaking. Proceeding cautiously toward the voices, with hearts beating like birds against their rib cages, a group of older boys came into view. A few moments passed before the boys awareness included the presence of the girls. "GIRLS!!!!," they shouted in unison with undisguised revulsion. Advancing angrily with hands full of acorns, they began pelting the intruders. Now, truly frightened, the girls skinny legs carried them out into the day light. Eventually, the woods would draw them back into the magic dappled light, but not for a while.
The boys were about five years older than the girls and soon enough their interest changed to girls and cars. They abandoned the woods leaving it to the girls. The boys had built a dock into the pond, a raft and a tree house high above the ground in a white pine tree. These abandoned architectural features became home to the girls imagination.
This magical kingdom's boundaries were to the west, an ancient rusting and in places, falling down, barbed wire fence. On the other side lie the forbidden and foreboding property of Old Man Langel. To the East was another, better maintained fence which separated the cows and pasture from the hard wood forest. Within these boundaries, the seasons of childhood cycled with nature from the first spring wild flowers to the clear frozen ponds of winter. We simply called it "Our Woods."
Two theories arose as to the motivation for his hermitage. He had been a WWI veteran and suffered from shell shock. Post traumatic stress disorder is what it is called today. He took the money he was given for his service, bought the woods and retired from the world. The other theory is that a house fire in town killed both his wife and child. In his sorrow and grief, he took his insurance money, bought the woods and retired from the world. I still don't know if either of these stories is true. The stories did produce in the girls a sense of tragic sympathy for the old, lonely man cycling through the seasons of their youth.
What the girls did know was that the man did not welcome company or conversation. Stories swirled around about shot guns loaded with rock salt and readily discharged if anyone cared to challenge this theory and pay him a visit. The girls observed this old man from a safe distance as he rode by their home on his bicycle occasionally with his shot gun across the handle bars. On trash day he could be observed more closely as he stopped to examine the throw-aways that could become useful items. The neighbor claimed that she had been startled to find him peering into her window. He struck fear, wonder, mystery and imagination into the childish minds of the girls, which of course they found thrilling.
Jackson Woods (
At the edge of the neighbor boy's house the girls discovered a beaten path leading into the woods. A path invites a child like a magnet. No question arose in their minds as their legs carried them into the damp and sun dappled shadows. The ferns brushed their legs as a small shallow pond came into view. The unfamiliar sound of croaking frogs stopped them in their tracks. The girls imaged monsters of all sorts. Frozen in a state of indecision as to whether to continue or flee, the voices of other children rose above the din of croaking. Proceeding cautiously toward the voices, with hearts beating like birds against their rib cages, a group of older boys came into view. A few moments passed before the boys awareness included the presence of the girls. "GIRLS!!!!," they shouted in unison with undisguised revulsion. Advancing angrily with hands full of acorns, they began pelting the intruders. Now, truly frightened, the girls skinny legs carried them out into the day light. Eventually, the woods would draw them back into the magic dappled light, but not for a while.
The boys were about five years older than the girls and soon enough their interest changed to girls and cars. They abandoned the woods leaving it to the girls. The boys had built a dock into the pond, a raft and a tree house high above the ground in a white pine tree. These abandoned architectural features became home to the girls imagination.
This magical kingdom's boundaries were to the west, an ancient rusting and in places, falling down, barbed wire fence. On the other side lie the forbidden and foreboding property of Old Man Langel. To the East was another, better maintained fence which separated the cows and pasture from the hard wood forest. Within these boundaries, the seasons of childhood cycled with nature from the first spring wild flowers to the clear frozen ponds of winter. We simply called it "Our Woods."
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