The Sandbox

I want to get a sandbox for my yard. My twin grandchildren will be visiting me more and more and I think they will enjoy playing in sand at Grandmama's house. This afternoon, I roamed the internet looking at sandbox choices, and I found them in abundance. I could spend quite a bit of money on a sandbox! More than likely I will go for either a red plastic crab or a green plastic turtle (each with supposedly sturdy lid). I don't need Virginia Beach's oceanfront in my backyard.

Memories of our childhood sandbox rolled over me as I pictured the fun my grandchildren will have. In a shady, open spot at one edge of our backyard, my father constructed our sandbox. I remember his building it, so this must have occurred before I started school. He had scavenged some boards from our church during a renovation/construction phase, and he attached them in a large rectangle. He put the rectangle directly on the ground and made sure it was solidly sited. There it waited, no sand in view.

In a few days, a large dump truck stopped beside our gate. What on earth did that portend? The driver came to our door and spoke to Mother. They agreed on something, and he went back to the truck. He moved the truck so that the tailgate opened exactly at our by-then-opened gate. To our astonishment, he then dumped a load of sand right into our side yard. I can still see all that sand cascading out of the truck and piling up at the foot of our porch steps. After closing the tailgate, he drove away.

Now what? We had to wait until my father came home from work. He seemed delighted with this huge obstacle in our yard. Apparently, this pile of sand would move to our sandbox over the next few days as Daddy filled the wheelbarrow and pushed each load of sand to the box. The sand had even originated with one of our dear friends at church. Daddy had paid Mr. Robbins (who worked at the local hardware store) to send out a truckload for us.

Only a few days elapsed before Daddy completed the transfer of sand to the sandbox. We could barely contain ourselves. He had made a solid wooden cover for the sandbox and had put it on each night, so we couldn't even give the sand a trial run while he was at work. Once his work was done, we jumped in and began a stretch of years of happy play in that sandbox. Every night we helped him close it up,  and every day we helped Mother take off the lid. Our cousins would often visit and play with us there. It was so much fun, and even on the hottest Virginia summer days we stayed cool under that shady tree.

Each year, Daddy ordered a fresh truckload of sand and replenished the sandbox. We never knew when that would arrive. Yet seeing that pile of pristine sand in our yard came to mean that spring had come at last and summer would follow quickly.

Writing this has brought a smile to my face, remembering that sandbox. I can hardly wait to get out tomorrow and buy that red crab and set it up for my grandchildren! I hope there's room in it for all three of us.