I just recently celebrated a birthday, and my mom came for a few days to help me plant my garden and some of my outdoor pots as a birthday gift. I never imagined that I’d be quite the little gardener that I am. But I guess when I think back on my early childhood, a lot of those days were spent in the back yard. My dad had a vegetable garden and I remember picking fresh peas and shucking corn. And I remember planting little seeds and other annuals next to the red currant bushes beside our back patio with my mom.
I spent a lot of my childhood outside. In the summer months, my mom would send us outside and we’d happily imagine away the day with the other neighborhood kids, only running back inside when we heard mom call us in for lunch or dinner. We’d make up plays, or climb trees, or build forts, or scoop algae out of the ditch with long sticks. Or we’d spend afternoons at the beach, collecting little crabs and seashells, or trying to see how long we could hold a handstand underwater, with the waves crashing against us. We’d stop to have a picnic on our old plaid, scratchy wool picnic blanket – cucumber and bologna sandwiches were my personal fave.
As I sit here outside on my patio, typing feverishly away on my laptop, I guess it’s not so surprising after all. When the sun comes out and I can spend a day digging in the dirt, or potting a determined little petunia, it feels like those childhood summers. It feels like home.
Love you mom. Thanks for giving me this gift