Do you also appreciate coming home to your childhood places, the village where you grew up, maybe the house you have lived in even? I am lucky that those places still exist for me, not unchanged, but very close to what they have looked like when I was a kid. I try to go home regularly, to visit my mom, to spend time there.Of course, the trees are grown by now, from tiny seedlings they have been ump-teen years back to big sturdy guys now, providing shade in the midday heat. And there are young trees as well, from wich I especially treasure the cherries. Many of my childhood memories are about climbing trees, running through the fields, hiding in the woods. Those times have long gone, but they remain etched into my brain as sweet memories.
A random selection:
Running bare feet across very, very sharp gravel (little split stones spread on my grandma’s pathway). VERY painful at the beginning of summer, but “no big deal” at the end when our feet were used to it and had grown protective skin.
Hiding in a wheat field, the plants closing above our heads, Building a resting / nesting place with our dolls and stuff and spending the entire afternoon out there. And then losing the tail of my yellow plastic cat, which – considered from today backwards – was extremely ugly but still uglier without her tail.
Exploring my grandparents shed and chicken stable jointly with my cousin (4 years younger, a town kid) hunting for treasures. Not finding anything of use (next time neither) – except some stray nests with eggs, so our hens were not very disciplined.
Climbing trees, tall trees, not appreciated at all by our mom. Anyway, we NEEDED the black cherries which required to climb a stack of wood and stones, then go up onto a shed roof, further up to another roof level, before you reached the real stuff, still the biggest, sweetest, simply the best cherries I have eaten ever – till today and maybe forever.
Doing a “night excursion” with my elder siblings, attempting to climb the above mentioned cherry tree. Until our granddad shouted at “the intruders” from his bedroom window, threatening to shoot or let the dog out. We knew he didn’t have a dog, but he had a sports gun, so the treat felt real (while considered from today backwards it wasn’t). Then fleeing back to our house, myself losing my shoes and my siblings NOT waiting for me despite my whining and despair. Today, they claim to not have heared me as their hearts had beaten too loud from fear.
July 19, 2015 at 10:32 am
Even though I can not understand everything, I am happy about this. As memories of the good times in our family wake up with me. Thank you, my dear wind child.
(I must learn English absolutely!!! In September is the next lesson………….)