Tucked away off a country road, the magic of a dream took place. He realized his dream in a foxhole in a distant place, where dreams were your only peace and promises were made in silence. He was just a kid by most standards, but his country saw things differently as they handed him a rifle and taught him to fight. He cried like a baby his first night standing watch in the darkness, whispering for his mom like the soldiers beside him.
His dream was to build an amusement park on a parcel of land his dad said was his when he came home. He had always loved those parks where all your cares were gone in an instant as you strapped in and shot into the sky or rode great steeds on the carousel. He spent years growing up drawing his renditions of several rides, right down to the last nut and bolt. By the time he had to go, he kept his drawings tucked away in a desk drawer, and he often called on them in his memories to ease his fears as a battle raged on.
By the grace of God, he made it through the hell of war and returned to the peaceful land he called home. But somewhere along the way, he changed. He couldn't forget what he saw, and his only saving grace was the drawings tucked away in a drawer. He studied them carefully, making changes he knew would work, and with his dad's help, his dream began to come true. He couldn't build some of the more complex rides, so he started reading ads for used amusement park rides for sale hundreds of miles away. It sounded like a road trip, so they fueled up the flatbed truck used on the farm and headed for a town called Rivers Landing. They found the place: a rundown metal shop with a sign listing a local phone number for entry. He remembered passing a drug store a ways back with a phone box outside, so he made the call and was told to sit tight; the voice on the other end said he'd be there in thirty minutes. They ate the packed lunch his mom made for the trip and tried to find a spot on the building to peek, but it was tightly closed.
Not much longer than thirty minutes passed when an old, faded red pickup truck pulled up, with signs on both doors that read Rivers Landing Amusements. A large man in greasy coveralls, chewing on what was left of a cigar, greeted them with a hearty handshake and a booming welcome. "Name's Andrew," he said, "but my friends call me Andy." " You're the fellows looking to buy some amusement rides he asked. Dad spoke up, telling Andy we were here to look at what he had to offer first. " Follow me, fellas," he said, walking toward the first building he called his pride and joy. When their eyes adjusted and things came into view, sitting right in front of them was an old carousel, at least parts of one. Dozens of wooden characters lay on the floor, and too many boxes filled with the parts needed to set it up. It's all there, Andy said, and over there under the tarp is the music machine, and the motor to make it turn is sitting next to it. Do you have the plans? Dad asked, and Andy assured him he did. All it needs is some tlc and it would be up and running in no time at all. Come with me now, and I'll show you some other rides. We headed to another large building with two rides, both needing work but definitely worth the effort. One was called the Caterpillar that he remembered seeing at a state fair when he was just a little kid. He remembered it going around and around, picking up speed on sharp turns, and then, with no warning, a bright yellow cover came down on you, making everything pitch black for a few seconds; then it retracted, and the light came back. Once again, Dad asked if all the parts were there, and Andy assured they were.
“ Have a look," Andy said, pointing over there. A real honest-to-God Ferris wheel. Naturally disassembled and covered with tarps. We spent the time looking at everything, mostly in boxes, but it seemed complete. That's the big stuff, and Andy said So come over here and have a look, see what I call the kiddy zone. A rotating circle platform held various styles of motorcycles, and with a flick of a switch, the little motorcycles began to turn. The ride could allow ten kids at a time, all turning the throttle to make the sounds of a roaring motorcycle. Next was the boat ride. A tub of water circulated like a washing machine, and eight little boats went around and around, bouncing and swaying as if they were in an actual boat.
By the grace of God, he made it through the hell of war and returned to the peaceful land he called home. But somewhere along the way, he changed. He couldn't forget what he saw, and his only saving grace was the drawings tucked away in a drawer. He studied them carefully, making changes he knew would work, and with his dad's help, his dream began to come true. He couldn't build some of the more complex rides, so he started reading ads for used amusement park rides for sale hundreds of miles away. It sounded like a road trip, so they fueled up the flatbed truck used on the farm and headed for a town called Rivers Landing. They found the place: a rundown metal shop with a sign listing a local phone number for entry. He remembered passing a drug store a ways back with a phone box outside, so he made the call and was told to sit tight; the voice on the other end said he'd be there in thirty minutes. They ate the packed lunch his mom made for the trip and tried to find a spot on the building to peek, but it was tightly closed.
Not much longer than thirty minutes passed when an old, faded red pickup truck pulled up, with signs on both doors that read Rivers Landing Amusements. A large man in greasy coveralls, chewing on what was left of a cigar, greeted them with a hearty handshake and a booming welcome. "Name's Andrew," he said, "but my friends call me Andy." " You're the fellows looking to buy some amusement rides he asked. Dad spoke up, telling Andy we were here to look at what he had to offer first. " Follow me, fellas," he said, walking toward the first building he called his pride and joy. When their eyes adjusted and things came into view, sitting right in front of them was an old carousel, at least parts of one. Dozens of wooden characters lay on the floor, and too many boxes filled with the parts needed to set it up. It's all there, Andy said, and over there under the tarp is the music machine, and the motor to make it turn is sitting next to it. Do you have the plans? Dad asked, and Andy assured him he did. All it needs is some tlc and it would be up and running in no time at all. Come with me now, and I'll show you some other rides. We headed to another large building with two rides, both needing work but definitely worth the effort. One was called the Caterpillar that he remembered seeing at a state fair when he was just a little kid. He remembered it going around and around, picking up speed on sharp turns, and then, with no warning, a bright yellow cover came down on you, making everything pitch black for a few seconds; then it retracted, and the light came back. Once again, Dad asked if all the parts were there, and Andy assured they were.
“ Have a look," Andy said, pointing over there. A real honest-to-God Ferris wheel. Naturally disassembled and covered with tarps. We spent the time looking at everything, mostly in boxes, but it seemed complete. That's the big stuff, and Andy said So come over here and have a look, see what I call the kiddy zone. A rotating circle platform held various styles of motorcycles, and with a flick of a switch, the little motorcycles began to turn. The ride could allow ten kids at a time, all turning the throttle to make the sounds of a roaring motorcycle. Next was the boat ride. A tub of water circulated like a washing machine, and eight little boats went around and around, bouncing and swaying as if they were in an actual boat.
I have to say, Andy, I think that's my favorite ride even though I could never fit in one anymore. So what do you two think? Can we make a deal? Dad started by offering Andy $1,000 for the lot. But Andy just chewed on his cigar stub and fell silent for what felt like a lifetime. No, I can't do that, he said, but I will do fifteen hundred. Dad thought about that, then told Andy that if he would use his big trucks to bring everything to their property, he'd do the deal for seventeen hundred, and that was the very best he would do. Andy agreed and shook our hands, telling us he'd deliver a week from today.
We had a lot of work to do before the rides arrived. We cleared out a big space where the farm equipment was parked, like the combine that took up a lot of space, so that they could assemble the bigger rides. They moved other equipment outside and covered it with tarps, leaving an almost empty barn that I never knew had so much space. We turned Dad's workshop into a parts room, filling it with boxes of everything they needed to assemble the rides. It was late August, and they had to hurry and pour the slabs the rides would anchor to, leaving enough time to harden properly. That would take time, so they called in some favors, and the work was completed in no time. Andy arrived as scheduled, and we all helped unload everything into the barn. They showed him the slabs and where the rides would be, and he just stood still, marveling at the beauty of the valley where, once again after so many years, the laughter and screams of children and adults alike will capture the wonders of an amusement park. They promised Andy some free tickets as soon as they opened for business. I thought I saw a tear or two as Andy climbed back into his truck, waving goodbye to a time in his life when it was all his.
The weather changed quickly that year, and many cold nights found father and son in the barn, making progress at a fairly good pace. They enlisted help from teenage siblings to scrape away old paint on the kiddie boats and paint them bright red, blue, and green. Mom jumped in, carefully sanding the characters of the carousel, a daunting job that only she would attempt. It actually took months to complete all of the intricate painting, as most characters were adorned with several colors. I suggested we run an ad in the local paper asking for volunteers to help restore some vintage amusement rides. The response was overwhelming: people showed up early Saturday mornings, able and ready to get to work. By late spring, after countless challenges, the rides were ready to be mounted down in the valley. We used a rented crane to keep things upright while we fastened everything together along with just plain brawn.
We had a lot of work to do before the rides arrived. We cleared out a big space where the farm equipment was parked, like the combine that took up a lot of space, so that they could assemble the bigger rides. They moved other equipment outside and covered it with tarps, leaving an almost empty barn that I never knew had so much space. We turned Dad's workshop into a parts room, filling it with boxes of everything they needed to assemble the rides. It was late August, and they had to hurry and pour the slabs the rides would anchor to, leaving enough time to harden properly. That would take time, so they called in some favors, and the work was completed in no time. Andy arrived as scheduled, and we all helped unload everything into the barn. They showed him the slabs and where the rides would be, and he just stood still, marveling at the beauty of the valley where, once again after so many years, the laughter and screams of children and adults alike will capture the wonders of an amusement park. They promised Andy some free tickets as soon as they opened for business. I thought I saw a tear or two as Andy climbed back into his truck, waving goodbye to a time in his life when it was all his.
The weather changed quickly that year, and many cold nights found father and son in the barn, making progress at a fairly good pace. They enlisted help from teenage siblings to scrape away old paint on the kiddie boats and paint them bright red, blue, and green. Mom jumped in, carefully sanding the characters of the carousel, a daunting job that only she would attempt. It actually took months to complete all of the intricate painting, as most characters were adorned with several colors. I suggested we run an ad in the local paper asking for volunteers to help restore some vintage amusement rides. The response was overwhelming: people showed up early Saturday mornings, able and ready to get to work. By late spring, after countless challenges, the rides were ready to be mounted down in the valley. We used a rented crane to keep things upright while we fastened everything together along with just plain brawn.
As we continued, we had to think about concession stands. Neither of us was an actual builder, but a couple of volunteers claimed to be. They came up with the idea of finding some old mobile homes getting ready for demo and turning them into stands. They cut out a serving top large enough to hold condiments and stripped the inside, making way for a kitchen area with a good-size grill, plus a candy apple and cotton candy machine and, of course, burgers, dogs, fries, soda dispensers—and BANG, a concession stand. A fresh coat of paint and hanging lights would be the first of a couple more stands built. We also built several picnic tables and scattered benches for much-needed parent rest.
On July 4th, we would open for business. The park looked fantastic as we stood, looking down at all the lights and hearing carousel music. The smell of carny food filled the air. Every ride we brought back to life was worth every back-breaking day, frostbite fingers, and expense we hadn't planned on. We had talked about a name for the park, but at that moment we were still trying until, in one brief moment, our friend Andy came up beside us and said, "You know, a good name for this place could be DREAM LAND." "I'm going to go get me a burger," he said as I handed him some tickets, and off he went. And so it was: DREAM LAND came to life as a second chance for the vintage rides and a place where dreams really do come true a million miles away from foxholes and nightmares.
Mike 2026
On July 4th, we would open for business. The park looked fantastic as we stood, looking down at all the lights and hearing carousel music. The smell of carny food filled the air. Every ride we brought back to life was worth every back-breaking day, frostbite fingers, and expense we hadn't planned on. We had talked about a name for the park, but at that moment we were still trying until, in one brief moment, our friend Andy came up beside us and said, "You know, a good name for this place could be DREAM LAND." "I'm going to go get me a burger," he said as I handed him some tickets, and off he went. And so it was: DREAM LAND came to life as a second chance for the vintage rides and a place where dreams really do come true a million miles away from foxholes and nightmares.
Mike 2026
