You have to recall that I was very young when I first read this – around the time when forts and bases were exactly what was cool in my developing world.
This was one of the more exciting things for me, as Sam discovers a massive oak and burns out a little home in the heart of the tree. Sam embarks on an adventure, finding the old farm, visiting the library to figure out what vegetation is edible in the environment, finding a tree in which to build a home. As a mentor / guru character, this guy barely takes up more than a couple of pages, but he gives Sam the guidance he needs to make it on his own.Īnd make it he does. He gives him a few more tips, gives him some food, and lets him bed down for a comfortable snooze. The next day, though, he has a chance encounter with a guy living in a house on the mountain, who tells him exactly how to get to the old family farm and how to make a fire. He spends the first night freezing cold in the rain and ready to give up.
For example, he has no idea how to make a fire with his flint. He had done some very cursory research about making a lean-to and various scouting skills, but in practice, he is inept. Sam has absolutely no idea what he is doing. The first night on his own is described in great detail, and is an extremely effective set up. He calls a cab and gets dropped off upstate, somewhat near an ancient family farm that was long abandoned.
He gathers up a few things – a penknife, a flint, some string, a few dollars, and a heart full of courage. Like I said, the story is about a teenager, Sam Gribley, who runs away from his home in New York City to live on his own in the Catskill Mountains. I loved it - interpret that how you wish. I am done with numbered scores unless mandated by something like Goodreads - this isn't a report card. It transported me deeper into my imagination than I ever thought possible. Before too long, my copy of the novel was dog-eared and exuding that unnameable quality that becomes attached to a well-loved story. Then I read it again, and again, and again. My older brother had read it first and he handed it to me. I first encountered it when I was a child of eight or nine. What to say about this book? It literally is one of the reasons I adore reading and writing so much. But there is a sense of fantasy – every kid at one point or another dreams about running away from home. There’s no magic or goblins in sight, just weasels and peregrine falcons. It is a children’s novel about a kid in 1950s New York that runs off to live in the Catskill Mountains on his own. First, I suppose I should get this out of the way: I consider this book to be fantasy, even though it might not fit into a tight interpretation of the genre.
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