The winter brings the need for snow fort diplomacy out on the playground.

I’ve been subbing for a few days, and have had recess duty on some of those days.

“Mrs., um, Mrs., um, Miss…Miss Neidlinger, they won’t let me in their fort!”

This is a common problem out in the snow realm. The playground is littered with forts that range from snow “walls” that are no more than four or five inches high, mapping out an imaginary building in a way that looks like the remnants of an archaeological dig. There are also serious forts built into the sharp-edged drifts that were created by the plows along the street. These forts are usually made by the older kids and involved forced labor of the kindergarten through second grade to move large snow chunks in as further fortification.

“What happened?” I asked the child looking up at me.

“They…they…he told me I had to leave!”

“Let’s go talk to them, shall we?” I asked, the two of us trudging across the snow towards a busy fort.

The kids in the fort saw me coming. I heard a string of “uh ohs”.

“Hi guys,” I said. “Tell me about the forced exit of ‘Joey’*”

Snow forts create a kind of reverberating effect. That is, any injustice doled out at any time during the school day to any child means a rush out the door for recess and an “I’ll get you back” reverberating reaction occurs, usually done by kicking down the wall of a fort or stealing/breaking prized sticks.

After hearing the list of accusations from both sides, which generally devolves into a kind of tattle-tail free-for-all everyone-is-to-blame, I was about to say something when a pre-schooler piped up.

“Are you in charge here?” she asked me, no malice in her voice.

That’s an interesting question, I thought. Kids ask things so bluntly and, especially at that age, without sarcasm, that I was curious. “Do you think I’m in charge?”

She continued to pack the snow in her hand, while the other kids fell silent. She paused some more. Finally, after thinking it all through, she must have made her decision on who had what level of power. “Are you going to make us let him in our fort?”

“I’d rather you let him in yourself. What would it take to do that?” I asked.

One of the other boys in the back spoke up, and agreed that he could come in the fort as long as he took building and defending it seriously and didn’t wreck it. I turned to the boy standing beside me. “Those are your options. Do you still want in?”

He nodded.

I then headed over to another fort in the opposite corner of the playground where I could see another boy had been forcefully ejected.

“Teacher, they won’t let me in their fort!”

Oh, that this was Hawaii.

Evidently, this boy had taken the stick collection from the fort to make snow “soup” and the girls were upset because those were their sticks. “I was just borrowing them!” he told me as we walked closer to the fort.

“He can’t just take our sticks!” one girl had said earlier.

So I stood at the “door” of the fort and called out to the girls inside. “Excuse me. Would you consider letting ‘Ben’ back in the fort?”

The girls paused, and then one shrugged her shoulders. “Sure. Ben, do you want to come in? You can help us build the hot tub room.”

Ben trotted inside the fort and started to work alongside the other kids as if nothing had happened.

Kids are funny. They ostracize and consolidate at the speed of light.

*Names have been changed, of course.