When I was about 8 or 9 years old, my neighborhood/school friend Amy and I became OBSESSED with playing a game that we called "Cabin." The cabin itself was actually just the space below my deck, but we brought some plastic chairs underneath and Amy found this old plastic tube-ring-thing that became our firepit. Sometimes there were blankets for beds (but we weren't allowed to bring our pillows outside), we had plastic sand pails for our sink, and we even took special care to bring our afternoon snacks outside so that they would be that day's meal. And remember, this is all taking place under my deck, the floor of which was all rocks. Every day after school we would start Cabin up again and each day we played became part of the title. So the fifth day would be Cabin Part 5, the sixth day Cabin Part 6, etc. I'm fairly sure we made it all the way up to the 70 or 80s. Any day that we couldn't play Cabin was like the worst day ever.
Cabin brought with it daily chores. We gathered sticks and pieces of wood for our fire. We "cleaned" and "painted" the Cabin with these old paintbrushes that my dad gave us. We scrounged around in the woods for vaguely edible-looking plants that would supplement our afternoon snack-meals. Dad caught on to this pretty quickly though and made us promise that we would never ever EVER put any of our pretend food in our mouths. Apparently, some of the berries were moderately poisonous. My brothers inadvertently became our part-time slaves (who is going to say no to a pair of scary 9-year-old girls, one of whom could out-shout anyone in the neighborhood and the other who had tattle power??). We may have even forced Drew, the youngest one, to be the cabin's dog from time to time. He was a good sport about it, though. At 4 years old, he just liked to be included.
At one point in the Cabin saga, Amy and I set off to "explore" the woods that had come to be the source of our food and firewood. After wandering for many minutes (surely in circles), we came to an area that contained the remnants of an old treehouse. This thing was legit. It was actually in the tree. But before the idea of climbing into the treehouse even crossed my mind (I was not very brave as a child), I remembered another piece of advice my dad had given me: "Don't touch things in the woods. They're dirty, they might be broken and you could get hurt, and animals live in there." Had I been a braver soul, like Amy, that old broken-down treehouse might have become Summer House: Part 1, but I was far more content to stay on the ground and return to the Cabin.
I'm not exactly sure why we stopped playing Cabin, but I think it had to do with winter and snow. I'm definitely a sissy when it comes to playing outside in cold temperatures, so we put the game on hold for awhile. Once spring rolled around, we picked it up again from time to time, but with considerably less enthusiasm. I'm sure we had something else cooked up in our minds, so it was all okay.
Two things reminded me of the importance of imagination today, and one was the pile of dry sticks that I found in a corner of the area below our deck. I was about to go back into the house, when I decided to take a quick look around underneath. I saw those sticks and it felt like yesterday was Cabin: Part 78 (or however far we got). Why was I outside in my backyard in the middle of January? I heard our next door neighbor twins shrieking and giggling and yelling at each other as we were finishing up dinner. I put on my coat and gloves and went outside to say hi. Within ten seconds I was pulled into some strange 3-year-olds' land in which I was declared the dad because "your voice sounds like my daddy's." (thanks, Lilly...) I only lasted in the Arctic conditions for about 15 minutes, and luckily the girls had to go inside for dinner, but for 15 minutes, I was operating in imagination. I didn't have to worry about how much homework I still had to do, what insane task would be set before us in class the following day to be completed in not enough time, my upcoming student teaching, doctor's appointments, or any of the other things that plague the minds of those of us who do not dwell long enough in our imaginations.
So thanks to my 3-year-olds next door (and a pile of sticks), I remembered this: Imagination is a "use it or lose it" concept. Imagination is never boring. And you are the only one who can set the limits on imagination.
best. blog post. ever!
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