When I was 12, we finally managed a good fort.

In case you haven’t noticed or don’t remember, kids want forts. I’m sure they appreciate the bedroom provided by parents, or they would if they thought about it and imagined doing without, but every kid longs for a little place to gather with a select group of buddies, off-limits to adults and other outsiders.

We did what we could with blankets over tables, but that was about as fort-satisfying as a cough drop instead of candy. We found some “caves” eroded out of the clayey mesa behind the new high school, but they all lacked depth and the good ones lacked privacy.

The summer after seventh grade, however, we wandered onto the edges of the Rains estate. They had more property than they minded, to the northwest of our neighborhood just beyond the grove of lemon trees, and I and my gang of about six took over a little outbuilding.

It must have once served as some sort of barn or stable. It was made of old wood, had unglazed windows through which we entered and a rusted-shut door we never managed to open and a partial loft-with-ladder. There was a big pile of empty burlap bags in what was probably once a tack room; I remember we used them to sweep the inches of dirt and dust around and to partially upholster the space.

I think we only used it that summer. We’d meet there most mornings and figure out what we were up to. Like other kids of the area and the time, we were well-bolstered with tetanus shots and quite cavalier about the protruding rusty spikes and nails we encountered so often.

We never got caught but by the time school started again we got into flirting and dating and sports and running for school office. I’m pretty sure younger kids then found the fort and made it their own. I hope so.