We loved reading C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia.
In the summertime, after chores were done, we would sit around the campfire and Donna, our teenager babysitter, would read three chapters of Narnia, every night. We kids – ages six to twelve- were enrapt and held on to every word.
None of our cabins had closets or magic wardrobes. However, we all had very active imaginations and knew the magic Redwood tree up the road had enchanting properties. We knew it.
Where else in the world could you walk down four creaky, wooden steps and into the base of a massive, giant magic tree? We all knew it was an enchantment. We could feel there was a another country beyond the walls of the underground room.
We would take expeditions – wishing we had a magic sledge to take us to the tree – throwing around Narnia quotes, “Joy shall be yours.” and “Oh! The sweet air of Narnia” Where is Aslan?” “Beware the White Witch!” “Turkish Delight – where is it?”
That winter, the usual rainfall was biblical. It was outrageous. It rained for weeks on end. The many rivers were swollen, threatening for days at a time – then spilling over in massive muddy floods. Many small communities that were once river front, disappeared.
In June, we all went out to see our cabins and we discovered, Our Magic Tree had disappeared. It was gone. The tiny village was erased from the face of the earth.
We knew the White Witch probably stole our tree from us. All summer long we looked for her – ready to kidnap her and feed her to Aslan.