On the Spirit of Enterprise

The season of loose dirt has arrived.

Odd little boot-sculpted things that travel readily indoors to crush and crunch underfoot, happily prove that the earth's crust is indeed on the move.

Primary agents in this particular migration are children in the thrall of early spring, faithfully drawn to the spongey, gritty masses of awakening topsoil that hover magnetically outside all the meticulous landscaping we might have carefully planned specifically to prevent the literal and random sanding of our floors by the old waffle stompers of these our beloved offspring and their thirst driven companions.

Think of them, I tell myself, as personnel. Employees. Stewards. Perfectly designed to transport, and with the unconscious symbiosis of a wooly sheep carrying seeds for the yarrow plant, they serve likewise the earth itself.

They have, outdoors, quietly crafted tiny berms and turrets, long double walls that snake across the clearings like miniature ruins.

It is lovely out here, past the sightlines and boundaries of the adult world, past the lilacs with their packed buds and the sedums beginning to plan their dainty sprawls across the stones--here lies a most free domain, whose identity is all new and fresh daily.

With easy weather, this place teems with children.

Nowadays the anthill at the center is awake and its dusty denizens begin to take the air. When the late sun excites them, the faint and musical crackling of activity is audible, like a chorus, subtle, coded.

A cobweb glimmers emerald green from tree to tree.

Large rounds of pine have been rolled in from the woodpile and carefully set into a row. With 2 x 6 lumber they have become teeter totters for the various sizes: short, medium and tall.

An old fort, made entirely by children who now tower over almost everyone, has been drastically remodeled. The thin cedar walls, so easy to nail, came apart crisply and have been dispatched to the kindling buckets.

Only the floor and one sturdy crossbeam remain, forming the base for a terrifically knotted tire swing and a slide made of corrugated metal, wonderfully dangerous and steep.

A twenty-foot plank, looping into a juniper's low fork over a regrettable planting of daffodils draws little monkey players up into the shaggy branches overhead.

It is a stage. A shipyard. A hideout. A factory. Anything you want.

I am welcome here as an observer, an admirer, a guest, a provider, but not as a real worker. I am too tall, perhaps, or too worldly for some. My approach is too studied. Plus I watch the time, which is not appropriate.

I make off suggestions, too, regarding the need for jackets and noting the approaching darkness and the addressing the need of attention to homework.

I am also tricky. When I call my children in, I like to have a large plate of vegetables sitting out somewhere, little strips and clumps of radiant goodies to capture them in the first stages of dinner hunger. It simplifies the meal, superseding the requisite vegetable course.

My youngest child contributes the following: Kids' Ranch Dressing and Vegetable Dip. It is popular among late-straggling home types, and their older siblings; it is very quick, it has some lovely variations, and it encourages the volunteer spirit in urchin cooks, fresh from vast architectural enterprises.

Wash hands. Get a soup bowl or, if possible, something festive that is deep sided. Get out the mayonnaise, milk, garlic salt, paprika, dill weed, pepper, a rubber scraper, and a wire whip or fork.

Using the rubber scraper, put into the bowl:

A blobber of mayonnaise

Add to it, whipping until smooth:

Enough milk to make a thick dip or thin dressing. Add to taste:

1/4-1/2 tsp. garlic salt

1/4 tsp. paprika

2-3 large pinches dill weed

pepper

Garnish with fresh parsley. You can serve this in a red pepper cup, carved out, for beauty. You can substitute yogurt for all the white stuff, and if you are big on foresight, you can drain the yogurt through a dish towel for an hour or overnight for a really great, cheese textured base.

Feasting such as this winds up the day in a style as befits gangs of children with grand futures who, together and without strife, build stylish playgrounds, murmuring and calling out to each other in the twilight.