My best surprises

My pastor recently said that part of a dad's job of leading his family is to plan surprises. 

I well remember those my dad planned.  One morning he got my sister and I up before dawn and announced we were going to go to the racecourse at Borrowdale and watch the early morning gallops.  I remember it was still misty when we got there, and we stood at the railings and watched the horses thunder by.  I had never known my dad to be at all interested in horses or racing; I can only assume it was because he knew how horse-crazy my sister and I were, that he decided to give us a thrill of a lifetime.

Once or twice a year our family would drive the four hour trip to go and visit my dad's mom on her farm.  This was such an exciting event, that if my parents told us about it the night before, there was no way we could get to sleep!  So they would plan it in secret, prepare the picnic hamper after we were in bed, and then wake us up at 4am with the wonderful news that we were going to the farm!  Unlike school mornings, I would be instantly on my feet and getting dressed before I had even opened my eyes properly.  Off we would go, stopping after sunrise for our breakfast of coffee, cold pork sausages, and boiled eggs!  I can remember it all like it was yesterday.

Perhaps the best surprise of all, was the one that I never, ever thought my dad would do!  All my life (well, all ten or eleven years of it up till then) I had wanted to build a log cabin.  I had begged my dad to buy logs and help me build it.  My dad always said no, always giving the same reasons: it was too expensive, if we built anything over 6 feet we would have to pay rates, the termites would eat it within weeks, and just no, forget it, you are not going to build a log cabin.

One winter my cousins came out from Switzerland.  They came every two years and spent their summer with us, which happened to be our winter.  Two glorious months of playing together and enjoying their company.  They were wonderful times!  I discussed with them my dream of building a log cabin, as well as my dad's objections, and one of them suggested we dig a hole, and build the cabin over the hole.  That way it would only have to be a couple of feet high, but inside it would still be six foot high.  I thought this was a marvellous idea, and we began digging!  Surely my father could not have any objections when we explained this idea to him.  Yet his answer remained the same.  "No.  I am not buying you any logs.  Forget it.  And don't ask again."

Well, we had already started the hole, so we decided to go ahead and dig it anyway.  We had found out that digging was quite good fun and we would think of something else to do with the hole.  It was about five feet square and we went down about three feet.  Every morning while I was at school my cousin would fill it with water to soften the earth, and when I got home, we would set to digging.  Now you have to know that the soil in our garden was red clay.  You can imagine our state at the end of each day's excavations!  And the color of our clothes.  But I think my mom was well used to that by now. 

I will never forget the day I was sitting in our lounge, when this enormous truck drew up at our gate and the driver got out and stood at the gate with a piece of paper.  Not daring to come in of course, with two fierce dogs barking at him.  I went out, ready to give him directions for wherever it was he was trying to find.  Obviously he had the wrong address or house number.  You can imagine my complete surprise when I found out, not only was it indeed for Mr Posselt, 5 Cambridge Road, but it was also a load of split logs!!!!

I was absolutely stunned.  I managed to tell the man that yes, he had the right address, and yes, he could go ahead and unload the logs, but I was still in a state of shock.  MY dad had ordered logs!  MY dad was going to build us a log cabin!!   My dad, whose yes was yes, and no was no, had changed his mind!!  We were going to have us a log cabin!!

Over the next several evenings, my dad, with the help of my uncles, sawed and hammered and erected the most magnificent log cabin you have ever laid eyes on!  In Zimbabwe, nogal!!  Termites and all!  It had a door that opened and closed, and peepholes, and we even managed to figure out a secret locking system, so that when we were not there, no one else could get in.  Oh we had us the best times, playing in it, acting out episodes from "Land of the Giants" and such like.  Once we had a white rat in it, but found out that rats can climb earth walls, so back he went into his box.  We also had us a birthday party there with cakes and candles.  Sometimes there must have been about ten of us squished in there, but they were great and glorious times.  Many times, too, I remember us bigger kids would run and leap in and shut the door on younger cousins who we didn't want to admit.  (I know.  That was mean of us.  Today I feel bad about that!)

When the cousins left to go back to Switzerland, that log cabin just wasn't the same.  Gone was the life, the fun, the adventure.  It was just a place of memories, and I could hardly bear to go there on my own.  I wonder if my dad regretted then the expense of the logs?  But I would tell him of one thing I am sure - the sheer excitement of the surprise of building it was worth every penny!