The outlaw hideout

"It's a cave." I pointed to the opening in the downed tree that was just the right size for young children to crawl through. What seemed so obvious to me was escaping the notice of the two young boys at my side.

A tree that did not survive the wrath of the recent tornado had fallen in such a way that it looked like a child’s paradise to me. I could picture little boy forts and secret gardens for little girls. Somewhere that they could pass hours of happy imaginative play. The little boy with me started forward, encountered twigs with leaves intact and backed up.

“I don’t want to go in there.” Said the little boy now standing at my side, his nose wrinkled, a hatchet clutched in his hand.

“Why not?” My mind was still seeing all the fun to be had in that cave-like opening. I couldn’t fathom them not wanting to play in there.

“Because it’s messy.” The tone of his voice seemed to question whether or not I was seeing the same thing he was. “Look at all those sticks on the ground.”

Now I was questioning who was seeing what. Aren’t kids supposed to embrace this sort of adventure?

Not this one.

No problem. Writers have good imaginations. And it just so happens I write historical fiction. I had plenty of imagination of my own. If the two boys couldn’t see the fun waiting for them I could help them.

“It’s an outlaw hideout.” I pointed out the thick leaves at the back of the ‘cave.’ Showed them the ‘room’ inside the opening. “It’s just a little dirty. All outlaws have to clean their hideouts. When we get it cleaned up it’ll be nice.”

I borrowed the hatchet from the four year old and started cutting off small limbs and twigs, tossing them aside. After a few minutes the two boys joined in, breaking off small twigs, throwing sticks out of the ‘cave.’

We were happily cleaning ‘house’, the boys doing their best from inside the ‘cave’, me sitting on the downed tree chopping off as many twigs as I could hack through with the hatchet. A nice pile of debris was piled up outside our ‘hideout’ when my husband came looking for us.

Busted.

I was caught playing outlaws in the woods with the boys.

But it was a good thing he came along because he thought of something I never would have. All those rejected twigs and branches coated in leaves…were needed for cover over the ‘cave.’

Within minutes the girls discovered what we were doing. Finally the reaction I had expected from the boys. Their faces lit up and they took over the cleaning of the ‘hideout.’ I was happy…someone saw the fun in what I had noticed several days ago when I first spotted the tree.

The boys were tired of working on the ‘hideout’ so we left the girls to it. The boys were more interested in burning leaves and sticks in the yard than in making a hideout. Not so the girls. They happily worked on the hideout, hauling the wheel barrow and other needed supplies to their new ‘hideout.’

Tomorrow I may have to go play outlaws with the girls and leave the boys to do whatever it is that little boys like better than what I could easily see in that downed tree.

And who knows?

That ‘outlaw hideout’ may just be the place where my next story idea comes from.