At the Top of the Slide

A story that’s been on my mind lately is one of my earliest memories at a small playground around the corner from our house in Humboldt when I was about four.

It was the late ’70s, and it wasn’t unusual for kids to wander there alone on summer afternoons. I remember sitting at the top of the tall metal slide, my tricycle parked nearby, watching a couple of friends below who had taken off their shoes to feel the sand.

It wasn’t peer pressure,  I’ve never really been wired that way,  but a tug of curiosity. I’ve always been pulled by what other people are doing, drawn out of my own intention by wanting to understand their moment. When I’m alone, I’m fine; when others are around, I sometimes lose my footing; literally and figuratively.

As I sat there watching them, I didn’t pause to think. I just pulled off my shoes and that small shift threw off my balance. I tumbled backward down the stairs of that old playground slide. My mother says I pushed my tricycle home crying and was taken to the hospital. My bones were still soft, so instead of a break I got what the doctor called a wrinkle in my forearm and wore a tensor bandage for a while.

I think about that “wrinkle” a lot. It’s such a small word for what it taught me: that curiosity, risk, and falling are part of learning.

What I also remember is the feeling right before I fell: sitting on the hot metal, calves stinging, stomach fluttering, knowing that once I pushed off there would be no stopping. That split second between staying safe and launching into the unknown has never really left me.

Right now, with WebbSprout, I feel like I’m back at the top of that slide again, but this time the slide isn’t just a childhood memory; it’s a tipping point. A moment when staying still feels riskier than moving forward.

For me, that means stepping out of hiding. I’ve spent the past few years quietly building something beautiful but also protecting it, afraid that people wouldn’t understand or would criticize what’s different about what I do. Now it’s time to take the leap of faith, to let go, feel the rush, and trust that momentum will carry me where I need to go.

It means making WebbSprout visible and viable: opening the doors for workshops, small gatherings, and collaborations that show this home as a living, breathing community space. A place that balances freedom and structure, exploration and safety, individuality and community.

We’ve built a world that’s so padded, so managed, that many kids (and adults) rarely get the chance to climb, test, or tumble anymore. We stay home when we feel we aren’t at our best and  isolate when things are tough. WebbSprout is my way of rebuilding that middle ground; a place where growth is safe enough, but never stagnant. Where showing up is what matters, even if it’s messy. 

So here I am, at the top once more, legs burning a little, heart racing, ready to push off and see where the slide takes me.

Your Turn: Add Your Thread

If any part of this story resonates with you I’d love to hear your story.

This isn’t meant to be a passive like and share space. WebbSprout is about participation and connection. You’re invited to respond in whatever way fits you best:

• write a short reflection or story,

• share a photo or drawing,

• record a short video,

• or post anything this story sparks in you.

When you share, you’re not just commenting — you’re weaving your own thread into a growing web of stories. That’s the point.

Every voice adds texture to this living ecosystem we’re building together and is an example of what collaborative learning looks like. Webbsprout’s Webb of Care shared through stories.