Meg Kociemba
Kingdom of the Candy Cane

The throne was simple; it was cut directly into the mountain with a straight-edged shovel. And it was built just wide enough for a child king or queen. High up on the mountain above my house, the world was my court.

From my throne, I could survey the lands of my childhood. The failed attempts to dig to China, converted into forts guarding my lands. The earthen staircase, leading up a particularly steep section of the hill. The broad-leafed cactus bushes, hacked with a machete to shelter a spy doing reconnaissance work. The path leading to the canyon and up to the cave. The mountain bore many scars of my infliction.

Each year the rains would come and nourish the dusty chaparral dirt. It would erode the stairs, and the pits would fill with mud, but then the oat grass would grow. It gave my kingdom life, if only for a few months. I could stomp down the grass that grew in my throne for natural cushioning.

Many children imagine they rule vast kingdoms, but I actually had one. Looking from my mountain, I could see the tall buildings of downtown Los Angeles, the cities of the valley, and on clear days, even the ocean. But turn 180-degrees and there was near pristine nature where my subjects and I spent our time. We explored every inch of the hill. We knew its secrets-the caves, the pond, and the giant metal sculpture of a candy cane of which no one could ever make sense. They were true treasures to us. A pond in Southern California is alone a special thing, further enhanced because the neighborhood kids kept it a secret.

As I grew up, the child-like fantasy stayed with me. I hiked up and hacked out the path to the cave each spring when the new growth would come. My most loyal friend and I would pay homage to the mystery candy cane atop the ridge before heading over to see if the pond still had running water. Rock-paper-scissors always determined who would test the aged rope that swung over the pond to see if it could still support our weight. It would always hold. And I am sure it still would.

My last night at my kingdom before I flew away to college, I scrambled up the hillside being careful not to dirty my traveling clothes. As I reached my throne, I turned around and looked past the earthen scars, at the city. I could see for miles: the beautiful lights of the tall buildings, the freeways, the Hollywood studios across the valley-a blanket of lights, pulled up tight against my mountain.

I sat in my throne, which was lined with many years of oat grass, and admired the city lights. The mountain behind me was dark and unpopulated. As dignified as royalty, I left my throne for the last time without a tear. The mountain had been good to me. But now it was time to conquer the rest of the world.

<< Back to Issue 4, 2002