Beautiful sunny days encourage us to get outside and take in all that this corner of the earth has to offer us. Some days we run and jump, and other days we take our time exploring. We ask each other ‘remember when’ questions, and we talk about what each season has brought us, the changes that we notice.
Here it is, the most well-loved trail near our home. One might think we take many a trip out behind the barn, but actually, this trail belongs to another family.
We thought about this path and came up with several ‘remember whens”. We remember how it’s worn through to the dirt, in places, as though cattle have been crossing, how the spring brings the entire deer population to the front yard to graze, and how right there, behind Papa Bear’s shop, if he is quiet, Papa, himself, might spot a doe relaxing in the afternoon shade.
Which lead me to recall this photo of myself that was taken when we first moved here. I had paid to have a large square of land tilled for our garden, and I was happily standing in the centre of it, decked out in my rubber boots and bandana, posing like a queen. I was fairly excited and possibly, certainly a little too positive about what was to come. Little did I know that while I planted our seedlings among the gravel pit we call home, the deer were watching excitedly. Anything that managed to grow among the rocks was immediately consumed by those sneaky buggers. I have no idea how our ancestors managed to survive here, but obviously, they had this figured out better than I do.
On a more successful note, I thought of the morning that Little Eagle was born. It was one of those rose-coloured glasses moments that came out a true shade of strawberry, unicorn, sparkly pink. He was born in our bedroom, after a much simpler birth than my previous experience. It was a beautiful spring morning, the spring run off was dripping from the roof while PapaBear prepared a spread of fruit and cheeses in the kitchen. While we grazed upon those delicious, well-deserved treats, the deer were grazing happily in the warm spring sun. They were celebrating the arrival of our sweet baby boy, born here, in the same place my grandfather and great aunts were welcomed into the world. There’s something about that level of awesomeness that earns a unicorn sticker.
And then our minds wander to warmer days. Days when the door can stay open and we can extend our living quarters into the sun, and it’s then that I can see them running free, hair blowing in the warm summer sun, barefoot with sun kissed cheeks. I can hear the springs squeaking on Enee’s trampoline, and I can remember the feel of dirt, fresh from the garden, under my finger nails. I love winter. I love that cozy, lay by the fire togetherness. I love the smells of cinnamon and oranges, crock pot meals, sweaters, boots, and men in toques. I love being able to say “no not today” and not feeling obligated to travel. But sometimes, just sometimes, I dream of spring. Sometimes, the smell of mud appeals to me. And sometimes I can’t wait for the freedom of an open door.