Up north the best dirt to play in was the soft powdery sandy dirt that collected at the bottom of the irrigation ditches. While my parents and older brothers and sisters worked the field, we, the younger kids spent most of the day playing. The irrigation ditches were a natural playground. Trees usually grew along the banks providing a cool area and the ditches always surrounded the fields. Our parents could keep an eye on us.
With us we carried plastic toy soldiers, cars, trucks and something to dig in the dirt. A used tin can, a nail, or a stick worked well in any kind of dirt. We built castles, roads, and mountains. Whole worlds were created at the bottom of those ditches. None of our toys talked, moved or did anything without our imagination. Most of these toy soldiers were bought at the 99-cent store or at Kress. A bag of 100 soldiers cost 99 cents plus tax. Between my brother and I, we had hundreds of World War II, Vietnam, American Revolution, Japanese, German, British, Foreign Legion, and French soldiers. We also had Indians, cowboys, Arabs, firemen, and lots of horses, cows, lions, tigers, etc.
The toys were good to have but the best was just playing in the dirt. Laying down with your cheek against the cool moist dirt. Digging your toes into the wet dirt. Letting the sandy soil run between your fingers or just throwing it up in the air and letting the wind carry it off.
Mom didn’t think it was such a great thing for us to spend all day in the dirt. At the end of the day we had mud streaks running down our necks where the sweat and dirt mixed. Our pants’ knees had caked mud ground into the very fibers. Every cut and scrape on our skin had a scab made up of dried blood and dirt. There was always that little bit of dirt that managed to find its way into the corners of our pockets. Before our bath, which we use to take in those old metal bathtubs, mom would make us blow our nose. Most of what came out was mud.
When in Eagle Pass our father provided another source of dirt for us. Dad always had sand, gravel, or topsoil for some project he was working on. That pile of dirt was always kept toward the back of the yard under an old gnarly mesquite tree. The pile would grow wider and shorter the more we played in it. Eventually, Dad would make us scoop it back up into a taller pile. This was the time we would complain about it being too hot, too cold, or too hard a job moving dirt. Dirt was a very cheap toy and we always had lots of it.
I remembered my days in the dirt because Saturday we dug up the front yard and I made a stockpile of topsoil in our back yard. Our grandkids haven’t been by and seen it yet. But I bet it will be a magnet for them, like honey to bees, like sugar for ants. I will be ready with my camera. I bet I will get some great photos.
With us we carried plastic toy soldiers, cars, trucks and something to dig in the dirt. A used tin can, a nail, or a stick worked well in any kind of dirt. We built castles, roads, and mountains. Whole worlds were created at the bottom of those ditches. None of our toys talked, moved or did anything without our imagination. Most of these toy soldiers were bought at the 99-cent store or at Kress. A bag of 100 soldiers cost 99 cents plus tax. Between my brother and I, we had hundreds of World War II, Vietnam, American Revolution, Japanese, German, British, Foreign Legion, and French soldiers. We also had Indians, cowboys, Arabs, firemen, and lots of horses, cows, lions, tigers, etc.
The toys were good to have but the best was just playing in the dirt. Laying down with your cheek against the cool moist dirt. Digging your toes into the wet dirt. Letting the sandy soil run between your fingers or just throwing it up in the air and letting the wind carry it off.
Mom didn’t think it was such a great thing for us to spend all day in the dirt. At the end of the day we had mud streaks running down our necks where the sweat and dirt mixed. Our pants’ knees had caked mud ground into the very fibers. Every cut and scrape on our skin had a scab made up of dried blood and dirt. There was always that little bit of dirt that managed to find its way into the corners of our pockets. Before our bath, which we use to take in those old metal bathtubs, mom would make us blow our nose. Most of what came out was mud.
When in Eagle Pass our father provided another source of dirt for us. Dad always had sand, gravel, or topsoil for some project he was working on. That pile of dirt was always kept toward the back of the yard under an old gnarly mesquite tree. The pile would grow wider and shorter the more we played in it. Eventually, Dad would make us scoop it back up into a taller pile. This was the time we would complain about it being too hot, too cold, or too hard a job moving dirt. Dirt was a very cheap toy and we always had lots of it.
I remembered my days in the dirt because Saturday we dug up the front yard and I made a stockpile of topsoil in our back yard. Our grandkids haven’t been by and seen it yet. But I bet it will be a magnet for them, like honey to bees, like sugar for ants. I will be ready with my camera. I bet I will get some great photos.
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