Nate and Sophie went to play with friends (a brother and sister they know) after school today.  When it was time to get them, Lex wanted to go pick them up so he could go see the old car "behind" their house he’d heard about after they played there last week. 

Bring the camera, Mom, he told me.  So, I did.

We got to the house and went through the gate in the backyard fence that leads to the easement beyond.  High voltage power lines run behind the house, and there’s an enormous tower a little way down the street from the house we were at.  The kids headed that way, so I followed them.  The space under the lines is all empty, bordered by backyard fences on either side.  Sophie and her friend had picked watermelons from someone’s garden. Someone without a back fence. 

We walked and walked.  Maybe a half mile.  Past the huge power tower thing with all its razor wire and warnings about radio frequency.  The humming buzz of the lines was loud.  I imagined, (or maybe I wasn’t) that I could feel the electricity on my skin.  It vibrated.

The old truck was beautiful.  Rusted, wrecked, shattered.  The kids called it a zombie truck and said there was someone dead inside.  They started to try and open the door, but I yelled at them that it wasn’t safe.  Sometimes I hate being the mom; I wanted to check it out, too.

Alex took a couple of photos, and then I demanded my camera back since the sun was setting. 

So, that was one of the beautiful things I saw today.  Probably not beautiful to many people, but it was to me.  Even more so since it was so unexpected.  I love that the kids had a chance to explore on their own and find it.  I used to do things like that all the time when I was little, but I’m still apprehensive about letting them out of my site when we’re out.  It wasn’t the safest thing ever, them going far enough to find that truck, but I think childhood needs those experiences.  I think it requires them.