I used to have four places to hide, in our house and garden. One of them was the large green cypress tree, where I spent hours.
It was a huge garden, we had hedges and trees, fruit trees, apples and plums and pears. There was a shed, a garage, and the huge house. The house was very old, and it was very beautiful. And very cold, not suited for cold winters.
I loved running in the garden. I played in the garden. And I hid there. There was a veranda, it was made out of concrete, but from very old pictures I have seen it looking like a grand, old fashioned one, where you would sit outside, having tea and looking at the roses. The ugly concrete version had to openings, one in each end. If I used the smallest opening, nobody could see me from outside. It was dark, I would creep up into the corner and make myself seem very little. And quiet. A pity I didn’t think of moving my tricycle away from outside the entrance.
I was more successful in the cellar. It was an open cellar, with an old broken door, that didn’t close. There were no electricity in there, and no light. The floor of the cellar was the rock that the house was built on. The pipe went from all the way down in the cellar, and we had some wooden cases there, adjacent to the pipe for storing potatoes. And homemade blueberry juice and jam. There were mice in the cellar. I weren’t afraid of them.
Inside the house, I hid in a closet, in my parents bedroom. It was a closet used for storing stuff after my mothers parents. The door would lock sometimes, and it was hard to get it up. Sometimes it scared me. But then I would fall asleep.
When there was snow, I made ski tracks through all the garden, the long hill down, the way cross the big lawn my older brother and sister used for badminton in the summer, and all the way up the rhododendron trees, many of them. I went round and round, for hours, until I was so cold I had to go in.
I hate to ski. I haven’t used my skies in more than 30 years, think I have a pair. I hate snow too.