They say that you can never go home again. But I wonder if home ever was, or, if it's all in your mind. I can't seem to get a clear overview of back then. I remember snippets of my childhood... making mud pies on old pieces of broken dishes and decorating them with wild flowers. In my mind's eye they were the most beautiful things created. And I guess they were because they combined natures flawless beauty with a child's imagination. But, looking back, I wonder how my mother saw me that day as I came into the house covered in mud and smeared with dandelion sap? My poor mother, I can't even imagine having 13 children to raise [14 if you count our brother Ralph who died as an infant]. The endless washing, cooking, cleaning she must have done.
I also recall climbing out of bed as a very young girl before anyone else and going to the garden my mother and father planted to watch the sun rise. I can see clearly the dew on the leaves of the plants and a light mist that kissed the ground. I don't know what possessed me to rise so early being that I wasn't a morning person. It was the first and last time that I had done that.
I have wanted to plant a vegetable garden for a long time, perhaps to recapture that early morning stroll through dew kissed plants. Who knows?
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