My childhood was pretty brutal. We learned hard lessons in unspeakable ways. You might want to get out the hanky now, this is yet another sad sad tale.
Wandering around the prairies as kids, trying to find something to do, I mean after we had exhausted looking at the cows and weaving wheat, making pictures with wheat, chewing the wheat, smoking the wheat, rearranging the cows . . . it was tough to find things to do.
So we wandered. We reeeeaaaallly wandered. . . as far as our little legs would take us in a given day.
And we would find awesome, abandoned buildings. Some were just granaries out in the middles of the field with some old grain, a dead mouse and/or bird somewhere inside that we pretended were dead cowboys and we immediately morphed in The Lawman, or the Lone Ranger and Tonto. We whipped out our imaginations from our back pockets and went wild. Sometimes we pronounce the old building a fort, sometimes a castle. The acoustics in those old granaries was awesome so they were, of course, some kind of stage and I made my brother tie his coat around his hips into a type of saloon girl special and we would can can the day away.
Surprisingly, we also found old houses in various states of left-overness. Some had furniture and odds and ends. Some were falling down and some housed other animals that had moved in. We had great fun with those. Continue reading “When Childhood Experiences Traumatize You For Life.”