The Biggest Backyard

As a kid, I never fully appreciated how large my backyard was. I don’t mean the literal lawn behind my house, but instead the vast number of places in my neighborhood that I could explore. I lived in the outskirts of Leadville, a small town way up in the mountains of Colorado. Right outside our living room window, we could see our town sprawling in front of us, with the distant blue figures of Mt. Elbert and Mt. Massive towering above the buildings. But out our back window, not a house could be seen. Behind us, the Mosquito mountains towered over pine forests, fields of sage, and twisty dirt roads, rather than city buildings. This was the backyard that I took for granted. 

During summers, afternoons after school, and weekends, the hills behind our house became a playground, where my brother and I would venture, our minds wandering as much as our feet. There was a network of dirt paths through the woods, perfect for dirt bikes and four-wheelers. We built lots of tree forts in these woods, and the winding dirt roller coasters were the highways connecting them. They were made of trash, treasures that we discovered laying half buried in the dirt and pine needles. Tires became chairs, barrels became tables, logs and branches became makeshift walls, and sticks became decorations. We had great intentions for these forts, envisioning that one day we would run away and live by ourselves, thriving in the shelters we had built. 

Unfortunately, we found that once we completed the beautiful intricate structures, they suddenly became useless to us. The fun and excitement came from the building, and once each careful detail was in place, and we ran out of nuances to perfect, the fort lost its purpose. So, after we finished the woven sticks on the roof, the crafty crawl-through entrance, and enough logs to seat five people, we wasted little time sitting pointlessly in our constructions. Instead we ventured along the winding dirt paths again, searching for a spot to build another. 

After hours of trudging through the trees, we would collapse through the doorway, just in time for dinner. The next day we would wake up, already planning our next adventure in our enormous backyard.