Post 5: The Corner Where Battles Were Fought

There’s a corner on the property where two fields meet.

It forms a clean 90-degree angle—an L-shaped boundary marked by barbed wire fencing. To the west lies the larger field. To the north, the eastern field stretches out.

To anyone else, it’s just a corner.

To me, it was a battlefield.

My brother and I spent hours there with GI Joes and Transformers, turning that patch of ground into something far bigger than it actually was. The terrain mattered. The angles mattered. The fence line became cover, the dips in the earth became strategic positions.

We didn’t know it at the time, but we were learning how to see space—not just as it is, but as it could be used.

We lost things there. Accessories, probably a figure or two. Small plastic pieces that slipped into the dirt and never came back.

And there’s a good chance they’re still there.

Buried just beneath the surface, waiting for someone who doesn’t know what they’ve found.

But I do.

Because I remember not just the place…

…but what happened there.

This is post five of a multi part series, reflections on the farm owned by my father and my grandfather. This is written for me and my siblings.