Happy Place

Sometimes when life becomes a bit overwhelming, I escape in my mind to my happy place. I find myself on the family farm of my youth. Some of my most peaceful memories are of springtime. At the first hint of a balmy breeze, my brothers and I would bound from the confines of the house. As the bright sun melted the lingering snow, we would use sticks to form tiny tributaries from the icy puddles in our yard. This simple activity would occupy us for hours.
The return of warm weather also meant we could engage in our favorite activities. The great outdoors provided more room to impersonate Bo, Luke, and Daisy Duke who encountered various obstacles. I also had more space to twirl in my Wonder Woman swimsuit. I battled the forces of evil in this ensemble, complete with bangles, a lasso, and boots.
We spent hours exploring the grove of trees on our property. We would take turns holding open the barbed wire fence so we could squeeze through, and race across the pasture to the trees. My favorite spot was among the lilac bushes that bordered the north end. I often slipped away to this space for quiet contemplation, where the only sounds were the songs of chickadees.
Of course, the passing of years brings countless changes. Gone are the days of playing Matchbox car garage or belting out Charlie Pride tunes. We will no longer take turns on the tire swing or relentlessly search for new kittens among the dusty straw bales in the barn. While those carefree days will never return, the memories provide respite.
"Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows."
-John Betjeman