Growing up, my friends and I were always making something. Many of our constructions occurred in the vacant lot across the street. I remember waking up one early morning and heading over to this vacant lot. It had rained that night, and the trench we dug for our bicycle obstacle course was filled with water.
The neighborhood was still asleep and it was too early to ring a doorbell, so I went to the window of my friend’s bedroom and woke him up. I had an idea!
We went into his garage, got the gasoline can and poured a good amount in the trench. We fashioned a makeshift ramp and with visions of Evel Knievel swirling in our heads we lit the trench on fire. The grand plan was to ride my brother’s new Schwinn Cherry Bomb over a wall of fire. We were both startled by the height of the flames — they must have risen 12 feet in the air. Terrified and teeming with grade school adrenaline, we thought through our options. We knew the fire could not be extinguished with more water, and the thought of getting our parents involved…well…seemed like throwing more gasoline on the fire. We ended up standing watch with a couple shovels waiting fearfully for the fire to exhaust itself. Neither of us spoke of this misadventure until now.
There was always a project going on in the vacant lot — stringing a zip line, detonating homemade fireworks, or building the treehouse pictured here. Our more reasonable endeavors were supported by our parents, who regularly took us to the local lumber yard. The scraps and tailings were free but we had to buy our own nails. We continued to add on to this structure until the tree was barely visible. We then launched a business for this location selling lemonade and baked goods. We were never inspected by the building or health department but still managed to get a two-page spread in the local newspaper. I am now raising two kids of my own and have come to realize we need fewer playgrounds and more vacant lots. Everyone needs a vacant lot.