*** ORBUSMAX GUEST OP/ED ***

We Offered Them Death, But Life Broke Out - By Rocky Brown

May 19, 2004



This column was written three years ago. Since that time neighborhood boys and some of their fathers informally built a trail through the woods. Recently some neighborhood residents threatened to lien the home of the writer for assisting in that effort.

Last night I was walking with my family next to the neighborhood greenbelt. My son was several yards ahead, busy whacking weeds along the roadside with one of his many whacking sticks. My wife held the dog's leash. I looked down toward the creek-bed at my favorite tree. Its trunk had been stripped of bark over a large area. Purple paint stained the bare surface. I could see a hammer in the weeds next to the tree. A few small boards of lumber had been nailed to its side.

I immediately knew what had happened. Life had broken out. I slid down the bank to more closely survey the scene. Several tools lay in the grass, a full hammer, a smaller hammer, a miter saw, a pocketknife. Two 1 by 6 boards had been nailed into the tree trunk. Several more lay nearby next to a small pile of nails. The bark on the tree was stripped to the six-foot level in a two-foot wide swath. The purple paint on the exposed wood spelled an indecipherable message. The work-site had obviously been abandoned in haste; the tools left astray, the unused lumber exposed. I gathered up the tools and piled them by the stump of a long-dead mate of the stricken tree -- then climbed the bank to return to my family and answer my son's questions.

The greenbelt is off limits you see, neighborhood covenants among other reasons. No man or pet allowed, or boy for that matter. Of course the pets don't know this and many have wandered down the bank to the seasonal creek, though always shortly to be called back. The men know the restriction and abide by it, as do the women. The girls think the area might be a neat place to gather and talk with their friends, catch a butterfly or even a frog, but they accept their parent's command not to venture there. The boys likewise have been told, and many told why. "It's to protect the environment," we would say," or, "the neighborhood has decided against it." Some parents may have gone further, "The Corps of Engineers has instructed the neighborhood to do a five year seasonal study to determine the impact of the neighborhood's construction on the wetland ecosystem." While we prattle on, the boys of course have stopped listening back at the word 'instructed.' Death is in our words; death of adventure, of fun, of boyhood. Their minds have wandered to their video games. Outdoor stuff is just pretty boring, they think.

"Let's go for a walk" Dad had said, but the walk is down the road, and down the sidewalk, past the forbidden greenbelt, and the fenced off pond, past the other seasonal creek, also fenced off, and back by way of the sidewalk into the neighborhood and home, where the video game awaits. The walk has become boring -- one day on the scooter, another on the bike, sometimes on the skates, others on foot.

The video game offers excitement -- adventure, racing, sports, castles, jet fighters, spaceships, and sometimes friends. For a boy playing all these adventures against a computer is fun. Playing against a friend is better. With a friend comes laughter, camaraderie, competition, purpose, and shared memories. Three boys sit and play, and sit, and play, and sit, and play.

The play drifts outside to the swing set. Everyone has one in his back yard, but a six-foot fence encloses each. Some fences might also enclose trampolines or pools. A few fences may even hold a big tree with a swing hanging from it. None have woods, or creeks. Oh sure, some boys might have a creek in the yard, farm boys. However, all the creeks, the ponds, and the woods nearby these three boys are fenced or forbidden. For this group of boys, a trip to a creek means a County Stream Team, a school teacher, a water quality kit, and a time limit.

A funny thing happens, though, when boys get together. They begin to dream aloud. It might begin as a game on the swing set, or the back porch. A vision of themselves as Jedis fighting on a star destroyer may soon morph into Hercules battling the Cyclops, and then on to Tarzan against a crocodile. After a while quiet comes, it may be minutes, it may be years, but the boys realize they are not these men. Their minds whirl on, one boy thinks again of the video game, a second of the coming end of school. The third, though, is not content. He wants to be those men. He wants the adventure, not just to manipulate it on the joystick. So, a suggestion is made. Excitement builds. Doubt is overcome, and boys race home to pilfer Dad's workshop while a video game begins to gather dust.

A hammer is grabbed, but the Covenants say no. A box of nails is opened, but the Corps says study. A few planks are gathered, but Fisheries has regulations. A saw is swiped, but the County demands a proposal. A pocketknife is taken, but Stakeholders have a say. A gathering is made, but Liabilities must be considered. A descent is begun, but Wetlands are violated. A board is nailed, but an Ecosystem suffers. A tree may die, but Life has broken out.

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Rocky Brown is a 10 year resident of Puyallup, WA.