Katherine Nicolai

So the snow packed together nicely, and we had a genius idea to shovel it into milk crates, the plastic kind with faded writing on the sides. All garages have them, though they aren't acquired in any way that I know. They just appear in a corner or on a shelf and get filled with battered softballs or swim goggles.

We found when they were packed with heavy snow, they turned out perfect blocks to build with. We shoveled a flat space and started to lay them. First a foundation and then rising walls. When the walls got to their third or fourth layer of blocks, we realized we'd forgotten to leave a space for the door and had fun kicking one out. Also, a ceiling stymied us.

We found when they were packed with heavy snow, they turned out perfect blocks to build with. We shoveled a flat space and started to lay them. First a foundation and then rising walls. When the walls got to their third or fourth layer of blocks, we realized we'd forgotten to leave a space for the door and had fun kicking one out. Also, a ceiling stymied us.

We found when they were packed with heavy snow, they turned out perfect blocks to build with. We shoveled a flat space and started to lay them. First a foundation and then rising walls. When the walls got to their third or fourth layer of blocks, we realized we'd forgotten to leave a space for the door and had fun kicking one out. Also, a ceiling stymied us.

And as we started to make plans to swipe tarps from our sheds and basements, we got hungry and all trudged to the nearest of our houses to be fed soup and sandwiches while our snow pants dripped dry by the back door. Overnight, the snow turned to rain. And by morning, our ice palace was a lake, with a few small, square icebergs floating in it.

And as we started to make plans to swipe tarps from our sheds and basements, we got hungry and all trudged to the nearest of our houses to be fed soup and sandwiches while our snow pants dripped dry by the back door. Overnight, the snow turned to rain. And by morning, our ice palace was a lake, with a few small, square icebergs floating in it.

And as we started to make plans to swipe tarps from our sheds and basements, we got hungry and all trudged to the nearest of our houses to be fed soup and sandwiches while our snow pants dripped dry by the back door. Overnight, the snow turned to rain. And by morning, our ice palace was a lake, with a few small, square icebergs floating in it.

I'm sure we hadn't given up, just changed tactics again. After all, what's better on a rainy day than a blanket fort? I'm sure we'd regrouped in someone's basement or living room and stacked couch cushions and bed pillows into a frame and draped blankets and coverlets over the whole thing. We'd probably had enough room to set out a board game and huddle around it.

I'm sure we hadn't given up, just changed tactics again. After all, what's better on a rainy day than a blanket fort? I'm sure we'd regrouped in someone's basement or living room and stacked couch cushions and bed pillows into a frame and draped blankets and coverlets over the whole thing. We'd probably had enough room to set out a board game and huddle around it.

I'm sure we hadn't given up, just changed tactics again. After all, what's better on a rainy day than a blanket fort? I'm sure we'd regrouped in someone's basement or living room and stacked couch cushions and bed pillows into a frame and draped blankets and coverlets over the whole thing. We'd probably had enough room to set out a board game and huddle around it.

to roll the dice and mark down on the tiny pads of paper. If we thought it had been Professor Plum in the conservatory with a lead pipe, or Mrs. Peacock in the billiard room with the candlestick,

to roll the dice and mark down on the tiny pads of paper. If we thought it had been Professor Plum in the conservatory with a lead pipe, or Mrs. Peacock in the billiard room with the candlestick,

to roll the dice and mark down on the tiny pads of paper. If we thought it had been Professor Plum in the conservatory with a lead pipe, or Mrs. Peacock in the billiard room with the candlestick,

Years later, when I was a teenager in the last year of high school, I'd been on a hike through the woods in the back acres of my grandparents' farm and found a tree with flat wooden rungs nailed into the trunk like a ladder. I'd looked up and seen a little house, a platform balancing on a broad branch with a few walls of mismatched lumber nailed together and a small square window cut out.

Years later, when I was a teenager in the last year of high school, I'd been on a hike through the woods in the back acres of my grandparents' farm and found a tree with flat wooden rungs nailed into the trunk like a ladder. I'd looked up and seen a little house, a platform balancing on a broad branch with a few walls of mismatched lumber nailed together and a small square window cut out.

Years later, when I was a teenager in the last year of high school, I'd been on a hike through the woods in the back acres of my grandparents' farm and found a tree with flat wooden rungs nailed into the trunk like a ladder. I'd looked up and seen a little house, a platform balancing on a broad branch with a few walls of mismatched lumber nailed together and a small square window cut out.

The wood was bleached by the sun. And when I reached up to test the strength of one of the rungs, it came apart in my hand. So, treehouses were real. Someone had made this one and played here. and though I couldn't climb up to see it myself, I bet there was, in a corner, under a pile of dried old leaves, a toy or a book or a box of treasures. Even now,

The wood was bleached by the sun. And when I reached up to test the strength of one of the rungs, it came apart in my hand. So, treehouses were real. Someone had made this one and played here. and though I couldn't climb up to see it myself, I bet there was, in a corner, under a pile of dried old leaves, a toy or a book or a box of treasures. Even now,

The wood was bleached by the sun. And when I reached up to test the strength of one of the rungs, it came apart in my hand. So, treehouses were real. Someone had made this one and played here. and though I couldn't climb up to see it myself, I bet there was, in a corner, under a pile of dried old leaves, a toy or a book or a box of treasures. Even now,

I'm still looking for those little places to tuck into. Maybe less a clubhouse and more a nest. Today was a day like the one that had turned our ice house into slush. rain coming down over the crunchy drifts of snow that were slowly shrinking. Water ran off the roof, drumming in the gutters and rushing in rivulets down the sidewalk and into the storm drains. I'd wanted to get out for a walk,