Digging

 My two youngest grandsons, like all boys of a certain age, enjoy digging holes. My brother and I certainly did, and were quite prepared to entertain the possibility that, if we dug deep enough, we would get all the way to Australia. After all, we had been told, against all the evidence, that the Earth was round (just as we had been told, also against all the evidence, that it was spinning around at some incredible speed, and – every bit as implausibly – circling the Sun). So maybe one day, if we dug hard enough, we might emerge, blinking, in the land of the kangaroo and the kookaburra. Anyway, it was fun just digging as deep as we could get, and we occasionally turned up odd shards of terracotta and bits of cheap blue and white china (no clay pipes, alas, and rarely a coin). Once we dug an unusually large hole in the garden and covered it up with sticks and leaves to disguise it. Unfortunately our father happened to be passing that way a little later, and suddenly disappeared up to his thighs in the ground. To our relief, he was more amused than annoyed. He was always a boy at heart... 
Here is Richard Wilbur, in a fine poem, recalling his digging days: 

Digging for China

“Far enough down is China,” somebody said.
“Dig deep enough and you might see the sky
As clear as at the bottom of a well.
Except it would be real–a different sky.
Then you could burrow down until you came
To China! Oh, it’s nothing like New Jersey.
There’s people, trees, and houses, and all that,
But much, much different. Nothing looks the same.”

I went and got the trowel out of the shed
And sweated like a coolie all that morning,
Digging a hole beside the lilac-bush,
Down on my hands and knees. It was a sort
Of praying, I suspect. I watched my hand
Dig deep and darker, and I tried and tried
To dream a place where nothing was the same.
The trowel never did break through to blue.

Before the dream could weary of itself
My eyes were tired of looking into darkness,
My sunbaked head of hanging down a hole.
I stood up in a place I had forgotten,
Blinking and staggering while the earth went round
And showed me silver barns, the fields dozing
In palls of brightness, patens growing and gone
In the tides of leaves, and the whole sky china blue.
Until I got my balance back again
All that I saw was China, China, China.