My own private paradise!
I opened the barn door on the garage attic that overlooked our swimming pool and let fresh air and light into my home away from home, which sat a stone’s throw away.
Sitting back in my lounge chair, I turned on the radio blasting out Billy Joel’s latest “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me” while shaking my head to the sound of the music.
With posters on the walls, books on an end table, and a tablet and pencil in hand, I crossed my bare legs to begin writing another short story while enjoying a little piece of solitude – my very own fort.
It was a long hard road to get to this point; but I finally made it.
Shortly before moving from the small coal mining community of Bentleyville, Pa. in March 1978, my dad built me a 10-foot by 10-foot fort in the back yard.
While he didn’t put any windows on the four walls, he did have two old doors with windows in them as part of the roof – instant skylights. I would venture to say, no other 10-year-old had that unique feature in their playhouse.
But my world came crashing down around me when my dad had to disassemble my refuge prior to making the move to Ellwood City, Pa. Although he promised to put it back together for me, the duties of being the pastor of a the new church took up more time than originally anticipated.
As time ticked away, so did my hopes of getting my fort back. Well, I wasn’t getting any younger; so it was time to take matters into my own hands.
I had a few options inside the house. We had a crawl space in the eaves on the front side of the house. It even had a cool mini door that opened up into the upstairs hallway where my brother and sisters had our bedrooms. However, my mom took over the space for her Christmas decorations.
Then I eyeballed another mini door in the upstairs hallway. It was a closet raised about three feet off the floor. Once inside, there was an opening to the actual attic of the house.
I poked my head up inside one day and saw possibilities. The only problem is, it didn’t have a floor. I didn’t know how to take lumber up there to make a floor without my parents knowing. Since i couldn’t imagine they would want me going up there, I quickly scratched it off the list of possibilities.
Then I went to the opposite end of the house – the basement. It was huge. And as luck would have it, there was a large room under the space where the guest room jutted out from the house.
I thought this would be the perfect place to call my own. But after a month, my little sisters were coming in and bugging me. When they brought in their toys, it was all over.
After making a thorough search of the house and finding no place to truly call my own, I ventured outdoors. I was drawn to the garage. There was quite a bit of assorted lumber scattered about, including the walls of my disassembled fort.
I decided the pioneer’s life was for me – after all, my favorite television show was Little House on the Prairie. I decided to build my very own log cabin, just like one Laura Ingalls Wilder lived in.
Upon getting logs stacked about shoulder height, my little project came to a standstill. With my structure on the other side of the garage, I wasn’t sure my parents even knew what I was up to. Not that it mattered much – I guess.
I decided to make a cement floor after finding some in the garage. When I mixed up a batch and poured it into one corner, I realized it was hard work. I gave up on the idea and decided a grass floor would do nicely.
Not having a door, windows, or even a roof, I was a bit irritated to say the least. To top it off, I was required to climb the side of the unfinished log cabin just to get inside.
Well… one day as I was climbing into it, the wall gave way and the whole structure toppled with me inside. Now I wish I had clued my parents in on my plans. Luckily, the neighbor in the alley heard my panicked screams and came to my rescue.
That was a colossal failure – back to the drawing board.
Then one day I was monkeying around the garage and looked up – the attic. I’ll make my fort up there, which won’t be accessible to my sisters – perfect.
I began by putting lumber on scaffolding hanging from the rafters. From there, I was able to climb into the attic. It wasn’t exactly the safest way to get up there.
In fact, my sister, Kathleen, who was helping me, fell off the scaffolding and had to go to the hospital. I thought that would be the end of that little entrepreneurial adventure, especially since I too made a trip to the emergency room after putting a gash above my right eye.
I was ducking out of the way to avoid a falling timber in the garage when my head came in contact with the lawn mower handle bars.
Ouch!
However, my dad gave us another way up that was much safer. We climbed onto a workbench on the opposite corner and went up a ladder to the top – much easier.
My fantasy of covering the rafters from side to side and end to end was short-lived after realizing there was only enough materials to cover a quarter of that. But I was pleased, nonetheless.
I, somehow, managed to get a couple chairs up there as well as rugs and end tables. And if I didn’t want to be bothered by my sisters, I just pulled up the ladder. My own little piece of heaven on earth.