“I used to have a great clubhouse/tree fort/Terabithia-like bit o’ wilderness in which to play as a youth,” you reminisce. “But then I moved to a city and had kids. And those kids dig in playlot wood chips and a part of my soul dies a tad,” you admit.
What to do?!
Oh guys, it’s so simple. As long as you’re:
a) delusional
b) in possession of a side alley/renting from a super understanding landlord
c) up to date on your shots
So, we’ve got this great li’l side alley on the other side of our garage. (Close friends/longtime readers/people who questioned the accuracy of my book will recognize that I’m not talking about the near alley next to the garage. Oh no, that’s where Bad Things have happened; ratty McRat rats, “ketchup” stains, and ghostly haunting central. I am so not even kidding. “But Keely,” you ask. “Isn’t that the actual way out to the city alley behind your house?” Yep! And I do not go there. “But isn’t that where the city places your trash ca-” Stop it.)
The other tiny section of alley is weirdly prime; surrounded on all sides by a high fence or brick garage wall, and zero way out (or in) from the actual alley. And last weekend, I had a grapefruit beer and got all inspired. (They should add this to the warning label.)
To access this Secret Garden o’ tetanus, the girls and I snuck past the pear tree and shaped a few errant branches of the back lilac tree with twine to form a passable arch. (I know it sounds like we totally have a Back 40; we don’t. We’ve got the standard Chicago-shaped house, the standard Chicago-shaped [postage stamp-sized] backyard and, behind that, apparently a Narnia’s worth of alleys around the standard Chicago-shaped garage.)
This is what it looked like when we started.
(Pro tip: You know what helps you get the most out of your water barrel? Really shove it into a corner where it has access to zero water supply.)
We put on gloves and waders and began digging up weeds and hauling trash (stopping every half an hour to scrub ourselves down with lye). Next up, power washing! Ooh whee, we sure rinsed away all vestiges of hypodermic needles and rubber-based products and ghosts galore!
And I’ve gotta tell you, there’s something wild about standing in a “new” (and clean) part of a property you’ve owned for 7 years. With its seven foot-high fencing and newly cleaned brick wall, I kinda wondered if I should scrap the “clubhouse” idea and make myself a “She Shed.” (I promise that’s the last time I’ll ever utter that phrase.)
The girls were still with me, so we kept up with the original plan.
Look how happy they are! I could totally stop at this step.
I knew we needed some sort of trellis or latticework to make a roof. (Obviously.) Grapevines and trailing ivy frequently make its way up the garage and fence, so how cool would it be to create a grapevine “roof” for the clubhouse? (Yeah- super cool. And maybe next up I can build a waterslide since I apparently have a newfound craftiness and unchecked ego?)
I got some twine. Because any other material would’ve been too obvious. (We only had twine.)
Next up, I fashioned hooks out of Sugru. (Remember the post from last week where I loved on Sugru for jewelry-holding? Turns out, this material is also awesome for securing latticework on the side of a garage where your husband won’t let you drill into either brick or downspout.) These needed half an hour to solidify and a full 24 hours to fully cure, so we left them there while we painted some frames with chalkboard paint for clubhouse rules and such. (I may still count on my fingers, but there are a few life skills I can impart to my offspring.)
Things of beauty, these.
The next day, I checked the Sugru hooks. “It worked,” I confidently informed Susannah. (Interior monologue: Ican’tbelieveitworkedholymolyI’mBobVila.)
We strung twine through one side of the hooks and secured them in a vee to the opposing fence, all the way down the line. It looked like this:
Then we went back up the other side and it looked like this:
Two important notes!
Twine fiber in the eye is a very, very real thing. I know, I know, you don’t want to look like a crazy person, but wearing goggles while playing with your kids is a-ok on occasion.
Also, you’re leaning into the alley and securing things to the side of your garage. If assimilation in the neighborhood is your primary concern, the ol’ Normalcy Ship has probably sailed long before now.
Next up, we’re attempting to train the ivy up and over the new twine trellis. As we all know, patience is totally my strong suit. But once we manage this part (and get some rough n’ tumble cushions), it’s going to be a gorgeously shady spot for reading and chilling. I already have some gauzy fabric to grommet and bring outside to drape across the entrance (and then promptly remove ten minutes later when everyone’s done with outside play for the summer).
It’s going to be fantastic.
It’s going to be childhood-worthy.
And it’s totally going to be worth this hammer-shaped bruise on my forehead.
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