Tree House – Growing Up in Dublin, Texas

Across Harris Street, next to the side of our house was another area we would play, and another large mesquite tree. We gathered rocks from the field behind it, and made a small wall to form a fort for playing Cowboys and Indians, or like we were soldiers in World War II. Innate thoughts that must go through all little boys heads, almost as if it is required preliminary training imbedded in our DNA and therefore our brains for the inevitable a war that each generation goes through. When will they ever stop?

Well Ralph, if you are reading this, I am letting the cat out of the bag, but just to let you know Mom said she already knew. Ha-Ha guess the joke was on us.

Anyway, in this big mesquite tree the limbs forked and reached out just right to form a perfect foundation for us to make a tree house on. We nailed boards on the side of the tree to form a ladder which we could climb up. Then were able to find enough boards, placing them next to each other and nailing them onto each of the two limbs to form the floor of our tree house.

While looking for the boards in the field behind the tree we found some old semi-rusty rectangular pieces of tin. Perfect for us to use as walls for our tree house. After some consideration and scratching of our heads we managed to put it all together to form the best tree house for miles around. It along with the fort was the ultimate place to play and occupy the months of summer and more. We would even sit inside it when it would rain. Admittedly some water would drip in through the cracks, but in general we were well protected.

At the this time we had began to experiment with smoking. It was a bit funny when I think back on it. My Dad smoked non-filtered Camel cigarettes, I do not think they even made them with filters at that time, and my Mother smoked Salem Menthol cigarettes. What a combination. We both would snitch them one or a couple at a time from open packs which Mom and Dad had laying on the table beside the easy chair, or from Mom’s purse.

Now we would not smoke in the house, but we would smoke, or should I say puff on them, down in the club house we had built under the stockyard loading dock next to the railroad tracks.

Now we had a new club house to lounge in.

We would puff away, and think we big shots, all grown up, with our monkey see monkey do attitudes. We were down right ‘Cool’.

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I talked to Mom here awhile back, and asked her if she knew we were doing that. She said she did. I laughed when I thought about it. How could she not.

All she had to do, was to look out the window and see the smoke rolling out from the cracks between the tin, as it disappeared into the air.

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© 2006 Texas Tortilla Factory – Mike Vauthier

Tuesday, August 29, 2006