A space of our own

It's finally time for the chicken house that I built for chickens to become Rowan's club house. We had chickens, then it was Zoe's play house. She drug all sorts of oddments out there to rot in the Oregon damp. She would play for a week, then abandon and leave many blankets, pillows and towels behind to be populated by the mildew and mold that abounds here. Finally it was abandoned for too long, and her older brother decided he should take it over. I can't recall if there was an exchange of money or favors for this transaction, or if she just let him have it. Devon has had many forts of his own. We lived on 80 acres in Oklahoma and he had two of the coolest forts ever there. He has built forts up in the tops of the arborvitae hedge that we have now. More like a cat walk really along the top of the hedge for about fifteen feet. This time he wanted a place of his own down at ground level. What the heck, Zoe wasn't using it anymore, why not? I'll tell you why not. Because the things that an eleven year old does in a place of his own, and the things that a sixteen year old does in a place of his own are two entirely different things. Devon had that place of his own for about eight months. He and some buddies carried a couch that was out on the street about 3/4 of a mile to furnish the thing. They spent a long wonderful summer out there on that couch in that fort. A summer that I am sure they will remember for the rest of their lives. But, when the weather changed, they continued to want to hang out there. It just did not seem like a good idea and it was becoming more and more obvious that the "He man woman haters club" was not what we had going on in our back yard. That spring, we ordered some chicks from the feed store, and moved Devon out. The chicks had lost all of their downy fluff, and grown to full grown, but were not yet laying when we acquired a Jack Russell terrier. Jack was a very naughty dog. We have no chickens. Our daughter is now vegetarian. Somehow, we still have the dog. It's a long story. The chicken/ play house has sat vacant since that time. Now it's Rowans turn. He and I spent the afternoon out there cleaning it up and getting it ready for the conversion. We got rid of all of the Zoe, and Devon, and chicken. We tore off the addition that Devon had added to the chicken house, and plan to put on a more sturdy addition of our own. Rowan wants windows, and he was talking about dry wall. We'll see what he gets when all is said and done. It's the dreaming and planning that give us the real pleasure. When you get the things you want, you replace the dreams with reality, and reality is never quite as good as the dream. So, Rowan is dreaming, and we are waiting for better weather to come around again (it will someday I'm certain!)I'm pretty sure that every child dreams of and plans an elaborate play house, (or perhaps a very simple one, but mine were always elaborate)and as we become adults very little in that changes. I still remember as a small child watching my dad design his dream house on graph paper. He took very little time off of work, but I remember him spending hours on that one particular dream. He never realized it, but it sure did give him pleasure to plan. We all need a place of our own, a quiet corner to plan our life's escapade. We sell a lot of play house tents, tunnels and tubes at hopscotch. Pop up places for children to enjoy their own space at the youngest of ages. Rowan was not down with that option as good as it sounded to me. Last year, the rocket ship by bazoongi was enough. This year we are building our own. From scratch. With wood, and nails and saws. And time, that of course is the biggest commodity of childhood. Plenty of that.