All the World’s a Fort

Amy Moored

All the world’s a fort.  I grew up in the country - dusty dirt, rock-strewn roads that hurt your feet if you walked barefoot.  There were fields all around and great trees, the ones with large trunks and branches low enough for climbing.  I spent my entire childhood playing outdoors in these fields.

There was a shallow ditch across the road from my house with long, sweet-smelling grass that rustled like a bed of straw.  To my child’s eye, it was the perfect place for an Indian princess with long, brown braids like myself, to hide out in and lie undiscovered on my back, drifting with the soft white clouds overhead.  Thus began my love for hide-outs or forts. 

Anyplace I could find that was somewhat hidden or secretive became a place of possibilities where life’s hopes and dreams were pondered.  A neighbor’s huge old oak tree had its own built-in fort by the way the thick lower branches formed a sort of cauldron in the middle.  The protector from all trespassers was this green, mossy giant.

One cold winter, playing down at our favorite creek, the water frozen solid, I discovered I could crawl through the nearby culvert from end to end.  I sat inside of it, the frosty walls glittering and the cold seeping through to my skin, staring down at the dark, clear ice wondering what happens to minnows in the wintertime.  It was exhilarating to have found this icy sanctuary and have it all to myself.

I also remember the neighborhood boys had built a miniature cabin out in the woods.  It had shingles, a door and a window.  It made a great fort, but for me, didn’t hold the wonder and magic that the fields, grasses and trees did.

One of my favorite forts was one we called the log fort.  It was on our property and consisted of a few fallen logs across a small creek bed.  The logs were partly decayed and falling apart, but were the perfect perch for daydreaming into the trickling water of quiet.  The best part was that this place was a secret, not even my parents knew of its existence.

To enter this inner sanctum I had to push aside the thick, entangling grapevines with tendrils clinging to my hair and bunches of grapes hanging from the dark, leafy ceiling, straining towards the sunlight that was not allowed in.  Only a few rays dappled in above the logs, which added to the dimension of my daydreaming.   It felt as though I had entered a place of awe-filled hush. 

What is it about forts that kids love?  My own children will crawl inside of boxes and clothes hampers, hide under blankets and wiggle into the smallest space they can find to call their own.  They giggle, bring flashlights and eat snacks in their little tucked-away places.  At times, I get nostalgic and wish I could join them.  I know when I am feeling stressed, sick, or tired, there’s always some comfort to be found burrowing amid my soft, warm blankets.  It’s the feeling of surrounding calm and enclosing security that fulfills some basic human need, or maybe just a child’s love of a fort.  

Amy Moored lives and plays in Holland, Michigan near the Lake Michigan shoreline with her husband, son and daughter.  On her journey of motherhood and self-discovery, she has enjoyed taking classes in writing, art, gardening, and self-improvement.  She can be reached at:  themooreds@charter.net