Winnie the Pooh

Our Little Cecilia has always had a very fertile imagination. This story well illustrates that! I do not remember exactly when she first heard the story of Winnie the Pooh. I may have been read to her, as I do remember several Pooh books, mostly gifts from Grandma. It may have been that she watched a cartoon movie of Pooh at G&G’s house as I also remember that. Anyway, the antics of the roly-poly bear made a great impression as will be seen.

At our house on Sandridge Road, in Placerville, there were several spots that were designated with names from the Pooh Story. The edge of our property, bordering the tangled scrub oak margin of the Middle Fork of the Consumnes River was christened “The Hundred Acre Wood.” The huge old oak tree in the middle of the pasture was “Pooh’s house.” And I think “Rabbits House” was close by, sensibly placed near the garden area. I remember making several signs (overseen by Superintendent Cecilia so the spelling would be accurate ala Pooh’s story) and placing them around the pasture. The sign for Pooh’s house was on a stake in the ground next to a large, rotten hole in the base of the oak tree’s trunk. Cece relates that the stations felt so far apart that even though they were unlike the book’s descriptions, they seemed very real to her. Even the absence of seeing the characters did not inhibit the reality in her mind.

Anyway, when we went to live at the ranger station at Powell, Idaho, Pooh migrated to the Pacific Northwest. On one of their walks in the forest near the ranger compound, Cece found an old hollow log and began writing letters to Pooh, and other characters from the story. Placing them in the log, it became a “post office” for her.

Sometime, after we had left Idaho and sold Sandridge Road, the reality of the Pooh stories became suspect for Cecilia. Whether with growing maturity she slowly began to realize that Pooh was just a story or what, I do not know. By the time we lived in Davis, no more letters were being sent to Pooh. Growing up is a bittersweet experience and I can only speak for myself when I say that I wish we could all go back to those more innocent times, and my little buglets were small again.

JP 1-2-2012