Third Street Jungle

A brief description of the small group of trees I used to play in as a child:

I ride my up-armored tank complete with tassels, banana seat, and flower basket over the uneven terrain. Through dense forests, and over steep hills (all three of them) I lead my troops to our hidden base. Deep in the bramble bush jungles of South Third Street, I gather the men.

We are a motley crew, the five of us. Brothers and sisters, some just in kind, others in blood. We are armed with the weapons of our day - slingshots and plastic arrows, footballs and Nerf darts. Together our tiny platoon prepares to do battle with evil bunnies and stray deer.

I hunker down even further into the brush, planning strategies in leaves and sticks, by the  filtered light twinkling through the leaves overhead. I draw crude figures with my twig in the soft earth, exchanging moves with my second in command. I am Xs, he is Os. My troops overtake his easily. Although, to be fair, my second in command is a couple ranks younger than me.

Suddenly, the guards are alerted to an approaching vehicle.  The sentries at the gate take up arms. I also, rush to the ready. Water balloons in hands, I call out.

“Who goes there?” I holler with as much authority as an eight-year old girl can muster.

“It’s me,” I hear in reply, “Inpane!” Ah yes, my other right hand man. Off of the battlefield, he is my younger brother. “Mom sent me with the lunch you asked for!”

“At ease men,” I command. We drop our weapons, and accept our comrade with open arms. We are eager for the rations that he has commandeered and brought back to base. It is a veritable feast. We are ravenous. Many of us have not eaten for hours. Breakfast feels so long ago.

After our bellies are sufficiently full, we commence with a series of training exercises. First we hold weapons maneuvers. Fire teams of three square off against one another. There are whoops and hollers as little men jump and dive over fallen logs, and run through small bushes. The fallen, stuck with suction cup bullets soon lay all over the forest floor.

Next there are driving exercises. We are well aware of the necessity of motor transport. Without it, we would not be able to get anywhere, or receive the necessities. We take turns running our bicycles through the rough terrain. Branches whipping our faces as we try to create more and more speed. Some move so quickly that they seem to fly over the bumps in the trails. It’s exhilarating, feeling the wind whip through my hair. It makes ten miles an hour feel like fifty. I feel free, as though nothing can harm us. I fly along the hills over and over, until I am suddenly exhausted. I fall into the grass, laughing. My brothers, still pock-marked from their war games, roll in the grass alongside me.

My second in command brings to my attention that it is time for our next mission. A convoy to the City Dairy for some much needed supplies and waffle cones. We line up in formation, single file and head out. Down Third Street and two blocks east, we converge on the City Dairy. Within minutes we are back outside, on the patio, mission complete, we enjoy the mint chocolate chip rewards of our operation.