Over the Beaches and Through the Woods

The animated version of the Disney movie, Peter Pan, was released in 1953. Disneyland theme park opened in 1955. I was born in 1955. Are you seeing the connection? I grew up in the era of Wonderland, of the lost boys, of never wanting to grow up, of wanting to fly . . . and sometimes occasionally wearing green tights.

I was so lucky to have lived my elementary school years in an area of the county where young boys could explore the lands around our houses and pretend we were characters from the black and white TV shows we watched. I always chose to be Secret Service Agent James West from the show, The Wild, Wild, West, because he was so cool and had the best hidden weapons.

When all the neighborhood boys got together, we would choose our characters and what the storyline would be. We would then spend hours acting the story out, mostly from the confines of our own yards. But that was only so our moms could keep a tight rein on us.

What was exceptional about where we lived was that to the south of us, we had cliffs and miles of beach, and to the north we had deep woods. When our parents trusted us enough, we were allowed to explore these new vast, unexplored lands as far or as deep as we wanted to go – just as long as we were home by 5:00 pm for dinner.

Time was divided equally between the beach and the woods but let’s explore the beach first.

THE BEACH

To get down to the beach we first had to cross the BNSF Railroad tracks which meant that one of us, who primarily watched westerns, would put his ear to the rail to determine how far away and which direction the train was coming from. Once it was determined to be safe to cross, we scampered to the edge of the cliff.

The first time the troop of second through fifth grade boys descended the sand cliffs, we took garden trowels to dig steps into the slope. As we grew more accustomed to the descent, we would jump from knoll to knoll and flip onto the sandy cliff slopes. Once on the beach, we would begin our search for treasures.

The bay at the cliffs is near the delta of the Nooksack River. Everything that got tossed in the 75-mile-long river floated down and ended up on our beach. The boys would divide and go in opposite directions in search of treasures. In our expeditions we found old row boats, long hawser ropes which we used to make rope swings, and bottles which we busted. After a big storm, the beach line was awash with treasures which we carried up the cliff only to end up in our garbage cans.

The lucky find was essentially the same as finding an oyster with a pearl; it was an aerosol paint can with a marble inside. Extracting the marble required laying the can on a log and beating it with a rock until a large enough hole was punched in the side to get the marble out. Though we tried various techniques, it was impossible to avoid the moment of the puncture when what was left of the propellant and paint blew out in a cloud and covered the treasure seeker. More than one boy went home to dinner covered in a nice tincture of red, blue, yellow, white, or whatever shade was in the can.

In the heat of the summer, on an extreme low tide, we would take off our pants and hike out to the waterline. Because of the silt from the river which ended up on our shore, the first 100 feet from the shore was calf deep, sticky mud. Invariably, one of the boys would lose his balance from a stuck foot and topple over into the muck. Becoming angry at his comrade’s laughter, the muddy boy would reach down, scoop up a handful of mud and toss it. This became an all-out mud fight. At 5:00 dinner time, every boy stood on their own front lawns dressed only in underpants while their dads hosed them off. It was amazing that we didn’t get tetanus from all the cut feet on the beach or dysentery and typhoid fever from getting the sewage laden bay water in our systems.

“Children have the strangest adventures without being troubled by them.” J.M. Barrie, ‘Peter Pan’

THE WOODS

I had a dream once that I stepped into the woods behind my house and continued walking for maybe 100 yards. Suddenly, I stepped out of the forest and found myself standing on the shore of a large lake. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. How could I have lived in the area so long and never have known of the lake in the woods? When I awoke, it was decided that the boys should explore the woods and find the fabled lake.

Woods are especially fun to explore for boys. We built numerous forts, attempted many failed campouts, and learned important facts about nature. For instance, did you know that if you find robin eggs in a nest and put them in your pants pocket, they will be broken and gooey by the time you climb down from the tree? Did you know that if you find a frog in the swamp and you squeeze it, the tongue will not shoot out of its mouth and its eyes won’t bulge, but it will poop in your hands?

The legendary lost lake in my dream was never found but the fall rainstorms would fill the ponds in the woods. It was then our responsibility to build boats and explore them. This was accomplished easiest by carrying an inflated truck inner tube out to the pond and laying a piece of plywood on top of it. The explorer would use a pole to push the boat, or a plank to paddle it across the connecting ponds which linked deep into the forest. Sometimes I would bring along my kiddy bow with suction cup tipped arrows just in case a majestic bull elk came down to the water for a drink or a crocodile came up from the bottom, but mostly I only came across frogs.

We pushed the swamp exploration to the limit with my mom one Sunday morning before church. We had eaten breakfast and were completely dressed in our Sunday church suits and wearing our polished black leather shoes. While mom was finishing up getting ready, my brother and I headed to the woods for a ride on the swamp boat. We climbed together on the plywood bed and balanced on the inner tube underneath. Upon shoving off from the shore, it took us no time at all to flip our boat over, sending us both into waist deep swamp water. As mom came out of the house and yelled at us to get into the car, we came out of the woods wet and muddy. I made a mental note that it was possible for a woman in high heels to chase and catch two running boys in soaked Buster Browns.

As fall turned to winter, the ponds in the woods would freeze over and the neighborhood boys would find themselves in makeshift games of jab-eye hockey, so named because one unlucky chap got a stick in the eye on a backswing. We also found that although you can hear the ice cracking underneath your feet, it never breaks . . . until it breaks. Ah, to have owned a hot tub back then.

The imagination of young boys, the lost boys who never wanted to grow up. The treasure seekers and the explorers of the forests. I pitied the girls with their dolls and tea parties.

The other day, my granddaughter who is in third grade sat with me and we watched the whole animated version of Disney’s Peter Pan. I once again loved it but when it was over, she turned to me and said, “I don’t get it grandpa.”

Don’t get it? Don’t get a boy who can fly, fight pirates, and be the leader of lost boys who never want to grow up? What’s not to get? I’m 67 years old and I still want to be Peter Pan. I hope that someday in the Kingdom of Heaven I will be able to fly like Pan, soar over and through the treetops, play hide and seek in the clouds and never have to grow up. But until that day, I will be the grandpa who has a hard time getting out of his chair, considers it a lost treasure to find my glasses, explores the world from my computer in the warmth of my office . . . but still believes in a place called Neverland.

“Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning.”- J. M. Barrie, ‘Peter Pan’.

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