FLASHBACK FRIDAY--The Sandpile!

When we moved into our new home on South Main in 1957, one of the first things built was a sandbox, known by all as the sandpile. There was a fence on one side, cinderblocks on the next, a board on another, and finally the driveway edging the last side.

My dad took the old Chevy pick-up every spring to an area in St. John called Sand Ridge, and loaded it with sand from side of the road. This stuff was great to mound into hills and dig tunnels throughout. It packed really well and was different than any sand I have ever seen. It was as much clay as it was sand.

We spent hours playing. We had Matchbox cars, tractors and apparently airplanes that went from the top of the mountain to the bottom, in and out of tunnels and over bumps and valleys. This picture is of Marvin, our next-door neighbor Kim Crowther, and me. I have no idea whose dog is taking a nap in the middle of our play area. It is not ours.

Every spring we would buy new plastic buckets and shovels along with my favorite, a sifter. I could make that sand feel like soft flour. I can still feel and see that brown sand in my fingernails. I NEVER had clean fingernails growing up.

Once in a great while, mom would give us permission to flood the sandpile with the hose. This was a treat beyond words. We spent the day preparing the sand by creating flood gates, ditches, canals and a large reservoir. What a treat to watch it all work perfectly. Mom hated the mess we tracked into the back door and into her kitchen.The water also ruined the sand, so this great day was usually in the fall just before the snow fell. The sand would be ruined anyway.

One of the more memorable memories is the cat doo doo we would bump into as we dug or made tunnels. All of a sudden a hand or shovel would hit a sandy lump that was stinky. We simply threw it over the fence, kept on playing, and didn't think a thing of it. It happened often. YUK! We didn't even use Purell.

When Marvin went to first grade (there was no kindergarten in those days), I was home alone. Mom had the baby (Tim) and I had the sandpile. It became my best friend. About 2 days after school started mom received a panicked phone call from the elementary. They had lost Donny Chivers, a neighbor Marvin's age. They asked if mom had seen him. Of course, she answered "No." Then the idea hit. She looked and asked me to go look in the sandpile to see if anyone was there. I was four years old. Donny had been found. He had walked the mile and half from the school straight to the sandpile. Heck, that was more fun than sitting in school any day.