As a kid growing up in the Martin household in central Kansas, it never occurred to me that those moments were unique and precious. This quotation made me think about that:
“But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly become special and precious, wouldn’t it?” ~ Haruki Murakami
Mom was busy raising six children, managing our home and garden and livestock. Dad worked long hours to earn enough to keep a roof over our heads. Living in the country, we were allowed to wander freely in the pastures, along the creek, and soak up nature. Of course, we had chores to do as well.
Everyone pulled their weight. Our responsibilities included feeding and watering the rabbits, gathering eggs from the henhouse, and endless weeding of the garden under the hot Midwestern sun.
Our hens were various sizes and colors, mostly big Rhode Island Reds. At some point, we acquired a bantam rooster with a gorgeous black and gold curving tail feathers. His chest and wings were golden. He fancied himself the king of the flock, so we named him Foxy Loxy.
What else can I remember from growing up in the country?
The years have passed, and my mind struggles to recapture the feel of clover and grass under my bare feet. Watch out for the bees! I would wander the perimeter of the yard early in the morning to see if new iris were blooming. Mom had some stunning hybrids, dark blue with flecks of white in the throat and ruffled edges.
Our giant lilac bush perfumed the air. Nearby grew the head-high clump of pampas grass. Mom saved the tall white plumes from that, drying them under the sofa, then displaying them in a deep vase.
It’s interesting to see that as I write down a tidbit of a memory and then it opens up additional ones. I’ll save these “special and precious” memories here.