This is a sacred place for me. A place filled with memories and lessons learned.
This gravel pit is just a stone’s throw away from the back yard where I grew up.
The scenery has changed a little. There were four Weeping Willow trees along the bank that would dance in the wind. We would join in and brush the leaves with our hands where they hung low.
There was also a very large flat rock where I stood and practiced casting my fishing lures over and over again. Occasionally the willow trees would grab one and play tug of war with me.
The slight hill there was perfect for target practice. My dad was a bow hunter. My brother and I had bows too. I remember making sure I held it just right. Hold my breath before letting go. And owww – many a sore arm even with a protector.
That hill also provided the perfect winter sliding track. On a good day we would slide right out onto the frozen pond.
The ice-covered pond provided Olympic skating dreams and sore ankles. There was a light pole with a flood light that we would have to get a key from the neighbor to turn on. We shoveled the snow off and worked on figure eights, skating backwards and in our minds make ballerina worthy jumps.
On the other end was the perfect swimming hole. There were floating ropes marking where the deep end started. And a raft that if you were brave enough to swim to it. I wonder how many hours my dad spent watching us while we swam. It was never enough for us.
It wasn’t until after I moved that the geese came.
On the other side of the lilacs laid the garden. I was taught how to make a straight line with a string, make a shallow ditch and carefully plant the sweet corn.
My dad was the first to build in this neighborhood and has the largest lot – one acre. We hear often while on the swing with Dad – “This was nothing but wheat fields.”
This is the only house I knew growing up and my parents are still here 70 years later.
Little did I know how my ordinary life would create such wonderful memories.
I always wanted to create outstanding memories for my kids – travel, Disney, camping etc. Not much of that happened with the life we had. But I am learning – especially at Sunday dinners – that their memories are there. Plentiful and wonderful.
Once my parents are gone, I will no longer have a reason to revisit my sacred place. Which I am assuming will make it even more sacred.
