How to Make Adventure
How to Make Adventure
By Hannah Rae Tuimala
The sound of a whistle blow can travel a very long distance, depending on the wind direction and the humidity in the air. Most days, it could easily span the majority or our 20 acres, and that was plenty of wide open space to invite a heap of adventure.
Something exciting was going to happen; I knew that from the moment my little eyes burst open. That morning my feet hit the cushy cream carpet running. After throwing on a pair of shorts and a cookie monster t-shirt, I raced across the farmhouse floor to the breakfast table, the wood boards creaking under my heels.
My little sister, Rachel, was bouncing up and down in her seat eating her cheerios. At closer investigation I realized that the reason for her bouncing was the vessel that contained her wheat cereal. It was a bowl, of course, but one of very special importance. I had spent weeks cutting out box tops to send in for this incredible piece of modern technology. My little sister could not possibly appreciate the wonder of a bowl that started out green but turned purple as the ice cold milk touched its sides.
“Mom! She has my bowl!” My first instinct was to simply snatch it out of my beloved sister’s little thieving hands, but that action would probably result in Cheerios and milk flying through the air, which I would inevitably have to clean up. It wasn’t worth that kind of effort. Simple logic and persuasion would have to do. “Rachel, that’s mine!” She looked at me with her big hazel eyes and crinkled her freckled button nose in a mischievous grin. “Mmmm. Cheerios.” She mocked.
I started to respond in some incredibly intelligent, irrefutable manner when I caught a glance of Mom’s tall frame out of the corner of my eye.
“Hannah, that’s enough. Let her be.” I thought for a moment whether my beautiful, plastic, color changing bowl with the straw coming out the side to drink the milk off the bottom was worth extra chores or a possible spanking that would result from any further argument. I concluded that the day was far too beautiful and there was far too much adventure to be had for me to risk losing any part of the morning over a cereal bowl, as beautiful as it might be.
Rachel and I finished our cereal as fast as we could chew and force it down our little throats. Little girl glances flew across the table as our cereal bowl argument faded into mutual excitement about the days events. As we ran out the kitchen door, we heard our mom’s familiar voice resound behind us. “Remember, girls, make sure you are within the sound of my whistle.”
“Okay, Mom!” We impulsively replied.
Steam rose from the cool damp gravel as the morning sun got to work. The farm reeked of life. The crab apple tree in the middle of the circular gravel driveway was in full bloom, which combined with the distinct aromas of freshly cut alfalfa and the faint hint of horse manure to create the unmistakable fragrance of summer in the country. It was the kind of scent that washed over you and instantly washed away any amount of sleepiness that might be holding on from the lazy summer slumber.
“What should we do today, Rachel?” The question was merely a formality, because both of us knew exactly what we wanted to do. It was the reason we both got up this morning.
“Let’s find Dave. We’re supposed to set the traps today.” She answered. I grinned and giggled as the anticipation of what lay ahead filled my little girl mind. Rachel giggled too, and clapped her hands together the way she always did when she was filled with joy that simply couldn’t be contained any longer.
As different as Rachel and I were there was no one that could replace her in my heart. She was spunky, and as little as she was, she could hold her own in any wrestling match, even against our older brother. The only way I could ever defeat her was if I used my size to my advantage and sat on her.
We saw David a ways off by the stainless steel animal shed that reminded me of those tin roof shanties I’d seen in pictures of the Great Depression. As we walked and skipped toward him our path was blocked by a large, black headed sheep running full speed toward us, head down, ready to ram. This was a daily occurrence, so I was ready for him
“July, stop!” I shouted, my arms outstretched toward the charging animal. July stopped suddenly in his tracks; not because he understood what I had said, but probably because I shouted loud enough to confuse his little sheep mind and shock him into a halt. I walked up and scratched his long black nose. “Silly sheep.” I cooed as I rubbed my face on his.
Rachel and I continued walking toward the shed, kicking up little gravel stones every few steps, trying to get them to fly out in front of us. July trotted along side me, nudging me with his nose every few moments to remind me that he existed and that it was my obligation to scratch his nose.
As we approached the shed we could hear the echo of a hammer hitting wood resounding off of the aluminum siding. The sound was to much for July to handle, so he scampered off to find something safer to do. David’s brow was creased with such intense concentration he didn’t even hear us come in.
“We’re ready to set traps, Dave!” I exclaimed loud enough to cause my brother’s hammer to detour into his thumb.
“OUCH!!!” He yelped as he sent a death glare in my specific direction. “Hannah, what are you doing? Don’t sneak up on me like that.” I frowned, desperately hoping that his anger wouldn’t be so great that he would exclude me from today’s important mission.
“I’m sorry, Dave. I’m just so excited about the war.” My pathetic little face must have been enough to appease his anger over his hurt thumb, because he looked at me straight in the face to lay out the plan of attack.
“It’s going to be hard work, girls.” Rachel and I both nodded emphatically to make sure he knew we were up to the challenge. Rachel rolled up her shirt sleeve and flexed her tiny biceps as a little growl escaped her lips. “Rachel, you are going to be our spy. Since you are so little, it will be easy for you to hide in the bushes and follow the girls right to their hidden fort.”
“And what am I gonna do, Dave?” I said, just to make sure he hadn’t forgotten about me.
“You are going to help me set up the trip wires and mouse traps. We need to make sure Fort Big Foot is well protected from the enemy.”
Fort Big Foot was the architectural accomplishment of the century as far as childhood forts were concerned. It sat about two acres from the house in the wind break, a small grove of trees between our property and the corn fields belonging to the farmer up the road. Every day that summer David, Rachel, and I worked tirelessly to gather logs, sticks, plywood, and other essential building supplies in order to make this the fort to beat all forts. David’s tall, lanky, preteen frame could easily stand in the main room without having to duck. The structure was expertly constructed of fallen tree limbs, held together with fishing line and twine from hay bales. Its floor was covered with a large piece of plywood where David had spray painted “Fort Big Foot” in big black letters along with the outline of a gigantic footprint. There were all kinds of secret hiding places to hold the tools and treasures of childhood and warfare. Rachel and I had tried to sneak some of our toys up there, but David told us that there was no little kid stuff allowed in this fort. This was a man’s fort.
Off to the sides of the main room were two smaller huts that were perfect crawling size. I often curled up in one of these cozy additions and fell asleep to the sound of the wind rushing through the cracks between the logs.
Because of the grandeur of this childhood fortification, there was an overwhelming sense of pride that belonged to those of us who had spent our time creating it. Along with that pride came a need to protect it from anyone who might not appreciate it for what it was. In my brother’s mind, that enemy was the second born, Sarah. Sarah and her friend Jenny had some how given my brother the impression that their intent was to cause harm to his precious structural ambition.
To make things worse, they had supposedly built their own fort on the opposite side of the wind break which they claimed was superior to ours. Something had to be done.
The first thing to do was gather supplies. This type of warfare would require the finest in childhood booby traps. Thankfully, when you live on a farm, the supplies you need are usually able to be scrounged up with a little looking. David didn’t want us to get hurt, so he took the task of strategically setting up a perimeter of mousetraps while Rachel and I set trip wires and filled balloons with water.
When the whistle blew, we were so engrossed in our work that we jumped in surprise. Three short blasts was the signal. Snack was ready. We all ran toward the house as fast as our legs could take us. We weren’t especially hungry, but our logic was that the faster we got to the house, the faster we could eat snack and return to our work.
The tension at the snack table would have been very comical to any outsider. Glares shot across the table, challenging the opposing force to dare to say something.
“What are you kids up to out there?” Mom asked when she noticed the intense silence.
“We’re working on the fort and setting…”
“Setting up the decorations.” David filled in before Rachel had a chance to spoil everything.
“Yeah, decorations.” I giggled.
“Yup, we’ve got some pretty neat stuff, too.” Sarah chimed in before taking a long sip of grape Kool-Aid.
“Yeah, I bet.” David retorted. “Curlers and Barbies are AWESOME!!!” His sarcasm was a little overdone, but it got the point across.
This fort war felt like full out espionage to my little six year old mind. I got tingles all over just thinking of how cool it would be when Sarah and Jenny were stopped in their tracks by my amazing trip wire tying skills.
When snack was over the five of us practically flew out the door. Sarah and Jenny shouted some threat our way and David retorted with a brilliant 11 year old come back.
“You just wait. We’ll win this war yet!” He had been reading too many GI Joe comics.
On our way back out to FBF David pulled Rachel aside.
“I have a special job for you.” He whispered intensely. Rachel’s eyes lit up. “I want you to sneak your way over to the east end of the windbreak. I know that’s where the enemy is building their fort. If you find it, grab something that would be important to them. If they are there, act mad and tell them I kicked you out or something. You got it?”
Rachel nodded emphatically. Even a good little Christian angel would do anything for her hero of a brother, even if it did include lying and stealing.
We watched Rachel as she zigzagged through the windbreak saying encouraging things to herself to make her feel tough. She repeated David’s instructions over and over.
“Gotta find something important. Gotta find something important.” This was a big job for a girl who was still considered a toddler in some circles, but we both knew she was the one for the job.
Half and hour or so later we spotted Rachel running through the woods faster than we knew possible. By the time she reached Fort Big Foot, her ankles were covered with scratches from thorns and branches. When she saw David, her little face beamed.
“I GOT IT!!!” She declared, holding a colorful homemade map up as far as her arms could stretch.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s a map! To secret treasure.” Rachel proudly explained. “And I had to face a ferocious beast to get it!”
“A beast, huh?” David laughed. He pulled his little thieving sister close and gave her a classic nuggie. Rachel beamed.
“Let’s go find that treasure, Dave!” I exclaimed, barely able to hold in my excitement.
We never found the treasure, because there was no treasure. It turns out that there was not really a fort either. It was just a circle of logs with some blankets on the ground. Sarah and Jenny invented a fort because they wanted to get David riled up. It was evil genius at its best. Thankfully that secret was not revealed until we were all adults.
Although we doubted the accuracy of young Rachel’s imagination, there was indeed a beast guarding the treasure map, although fuzzy might be a more accurate description than ferocious. It was a little kangaroo mouse that was apparently not intimidated by thieving four year old girls and would come out every time we visited.
Every day that summer I woke up expecting that something exciting would happen, and it always did. Adventure truly is what you make it, and we made it daily.
