'53

Response to Tammy’s comment concerning my most recent post: ” … I think there is something magical about being raised in the country and I think it allows for a child to develop in a very unique way. The running all day long with my brothers in the woods, drinking from the garden hose, dirty feet, pet goats, barn owls, orange blossoms perfuming the air, fresh oranges picked straight from the tree for a snack, tire swings, tree forts, bee-bee guns, bareback horse riding across the field, etc. I also, yearn for those times in my young life. It was the happiest most carefree time I have ever known and I’d go back to it if I could. There is a connection with nature deeply ingrained in my soul and when I am barefoot in the garden a whisper of it brushes my hair to remind me. I understand your thoughts on this. I am sad for children who spend too much time indoors in front of a TV set – they miss out on so much.”

I surely miss my country life as a child and until a lot of walking became a challenge, I still enjoyed “playing” in the woods and fields of my youth, even as late as 10 years ago. If I could go back to a permanent summer of … say 1953 when I was eight, I would be very tempted. Life with my mom, my grandma, and my two irreverent uncles was good, probably too good because all the chores I did were voluntary and I have never been good at stepping forward. My dad was around, but our relationship was more one of semi-peaceful status quo therefore he doesn’t figure greatly in the things I remember best in that time period; later years were much better with he and I. The year 1953 was warm mornings of grandma chopping weeds in her large garden or she and I in the berry patch at first light; she insisted that while the air was cool snakes would be in bed and not bothering us. In all my years in berry patches in two counties, I never saw a snake at any time of day although I suppose many of them saw me. Concealed hornets nests and buried yellow-jacket wasp’s nests were a different thing; seems I always found them. The pain of the stings have mostly faded from my memories and worn from my hide, and I recall those days with fondness, too. Yes, the honest connection with nature is everlasting and transcends human religion in my heart. The scents of fresh-plowed earth from a turned garden, mown hay goldenly basking in rolling fields under a curing sun, decaying leaves and tree stumps in the woods, and all the wildflowers which spring from the soil are still smiling from my most revered reflections. Birds, bees, and butterflies; autumn spider webs across my path which all seemed to be built face high and unseeable until my mouth and eyes were full of buggy silk; sled-riding in deep snows down hills so steep I wouldn’t climb them in summertime; mushroom hunting in spring; these are all precious memories. Going back to “then” and staying there forever would be excruciatingly tempting, actually; I truly don’t know if I would or would not abandon everything that has happened since to enable myself to invade what have become beautiful memories of a personal Camelot. Perhaps though, everything wasn’t so good in the summer of ’53 … I never had a tire swing. Thanks, Tammy.
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I am breaking in a new mouse; my old Logitech unit lasted six years, being used mostly for photo editing and correcting typing mistakes … in other words, heavily utilized. My crooked fingers need certain “modifications” made to the mouse, and the new Logitech is designed in a way which is making alterations difficult. I will.
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Thanks to Jola for allowing me to use her photo.
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Have a memory-inspired Thursday!