Growing up, my sister and I would spend our summers at one of the lakes in Friesland, a northern coastal province in the Netherlands. We would transform our small row boat into a sail boat by putting up a large vertical pole and fastening it with wires and ropes to hooks on the rim. We used our windbreaker jackets as sails and off we went. Usually the wind would pick up once we entered open water, blowing the boat across the lake at high speed. In no time, the boat hit the shallow waters off the shore of one of the nearby small islands and we would disappear into the tall reeds, giggling all the way. Waiting for the wind to change directions or to slow down enough to make return possible, my sister and I would walk to our outpost, a tent-like structure with some boards added on the outside for extra support. We would play cards, read books, or saunter around the island picking up odds and ends.
With childhood’s treasured objects thousands of miles away, we are often left with recalled sensations and memories of earlier found treasures. Perhaps when we lack tangible evidence from earlier years, we are stimulated to become inventive and experimental in creating new imaginary outposts.