Kids turn dirt into platform for adventure

   No one in my neighborhood was sure why a huge pile of dirt appeared one morning in our park.

   The old ladies walking their old dogs thought the smooth, 8-foot stack of dirt next to the playground was a sign that the city was up to something, because the city, they said, is always up to something.

   The dogs sniffed warily.

   Men donned expert-sounding tones and talked about construction and heavy equipment, as men are prone to do.

   But for the kids, there was no need for discussion or a larger reason. Who knew? Who cared? A big pile of dirt was reason enough in itself.

   Within an hour a dozen kids were crawling over the mound of soft earth like ants.

   I don't see kids in the park much. An alliance of adult-structured activities and "Guitar Hero" seems to keep them from just going out to play.

   It was as if one had tipped off the others with a text message reading "OMG, DRT PILE @ PARK. L8R." And they all converged. 

   They dug and shoved and jumped. They threw sand. They laughed. A boy in a ratty sweat shirt yelled "stick fight!"

   Meanwhile, the playground, steps away, with its corkscrew slide, sat empty.

   Here was a desert, a beach, a mountain, a jumping-off point, not just for the mind but for the feet, and a soft landing, too. The appeal was clear, even to an adult.

   Churned by little feet, the smooth, steep dune slowly melted into a rounded mound, like a cookie baking in the oven.

   The next day a batch of kids rode in on their bikes holding shovels. They shaped the mound into ramps and pedaled furiously across the grass, sailing briefly into the air before landing, usually on their faces. No one seemed to mind. A dirt pile is soft.

   This is exactly the type of thing adults tell kids not to do. This is why there is T-ball and clarinet lessons and homework - so kids won't have time to scramble around on piles of dirt like a bunch of monkeys.

   Adults don't get it. To them a dirt pile is always a step in a process - something to be brought in or taken away before the next thing can be done. For kids, the pile is the thing, a celebration of the fleeting present that must be fully enjoyed before adults ruin things.

   I was glad to see that rule still holds true. Sometimes, with the frenetic texting, the vapid pop ringtones, the video game obsessions and the clownishly tight, lowriding jeans, it's hard to find much in common with the latest generation.

   But some joys never seem to go out of fashion: plunging into a pool in July, running across the playground on the last day of school, giving your big sister a wet willy and, it turns out, enjoying a dirt pile.

   I can still picture myself racing down the steep earthmover-made dunes at a construction site near my house, digging fox holes with friends and throwing dirt clods until the kid who was always going home to tell his mom got hit in the face and went home to tell his mom, then being chased off by a security guard. Adults are always trying to keep kids off dirt piles.

   Little has changed. As the light faded over our park's new dirt pile, a gang of 10-year-olds played king of the mountain, pushing and tugging on the steep, loose slopes. A woman with an aging basset hound clucked her tongue and said, "Someone's going to get hurt."

TO OUR READERS: Submit your personal essay of about 500 words. E-mail dena.rosenberry@gazette.com with "That's Life" in the subject line. Or mail to: Attn: Dena Rosenberry, That's Life, The Gazette, 30 S. Prospect St., Colorado Springs 80903. You will receive a response only if your essay is chosen for publication.