Wood Chip Mountain

Something happens here that’s hard to explain.

Children climb, dig, tunnel,
and disappear into their own imaginations. 

Actually it’s not that hard to explain… 

One moment it’s a mountain,
the next a bear cave, a secret den, or a ship at sea. 

It’s been a café complete with wobbly tables, 
a steaming sweat lodge with tarp covered roof, 
a theme park with terrible rides. 

It’ll be 100 more things this summer and a 1000 more by the end of the year. 

It might be Mycobacterium vaccae,
that gorgeous soil bacteria released when digging that’s known to lift our mood.

It might be the rhythm of repetition,
the freedom to shape and destroy,
the companionship of others nearby doing the same as it reshapes once more.

Wood Chip Mountain holds more than mulch.

It holds roars and giggles,
deep breaths and do-overs.
It holds a mycelium of connecting hearts,
hands and bodies. 

It holds the first brave dig atop the mountain summit,
the laughter when the tunnel caves in,
the satisfaction of hauling one more spadeful into the wheelbarrow. 

We’ve seen children come to life here,
children who arrive unsure or overwhelmed,
suddenly loud, alive, purposeful.

Play like this has its own kind of medicine.

Wood Chip Mountain shifts and sinks and rises again, much like us.

It reminds us that play is not a break from learning.

It is learning. 

It’s the work of being fully human.