I had the remarkably good fortune of having a father who never finished anything he started. One of the more notable things this provided for me as a kid was a big pile of dirt in our weedy yard. Originally intended as topsoil for a lawn, the pile lingered long after the dump truck that delivered it rumbled away down the street.
For a young boy, not much surpasses a pile of dirt
immediately out your front door. Consider the possibilities: it’s a mountain to
climb—king of the hill material. Easy digging meant endless opportunities for
holes, caves, and makeshift fortresses. Might there be buried treasure? Perhaps
gold just a few inches in. A hill to roll down. A rough course for toy trucks.
My pal Kevin and I spent countless hours playing on the pile of dirt in my
yard.
Good stuff, that.
Just the other day, I passed by a new house with a
fresh pile of dirt deposited for landscaping. It made me wonder if some lucky
kid with an unambitious father was living there.
—Mitchell Hegman
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