Visiting Childhood Memories

The woods called to me, whispers from my childhood. I drove past Charlie’s Apple Orchard, missing the gravel and potholes now that the road was blacktopped. Paved roads now. When I was a kid, it was all dirt until you hit the main roads to the south and east. I remember how Tracy C. and I had to trot her little Shetland mare from her house, her driving the cart and me as safety lookout, until we made it the short distance from her house to the dirt. 

Before I knew it, I was pulling into the driveway. There were more houses now than fields, but I pushed away my melancholy and got out of the car. The woods used to be so far away from the house, I thought, as they now loomed too closely behind the barn. The ten acres had seemed so massive, and we loved going so far away from the house as kids, taking the fenced grassy lane along the hayfield until we reached the woods. Now, it took me less than a few to step inside the coolness of the woods. My siblings and cousins spent entire days out here, following narrow deer trails, ducking beneath the boughs of heavily leafed trees, imagining monsters and fairies, dangers and heroes. 

Now, I can see all the way through to the end of the woods. Where once another field marked our boundary, now a fenced yard filled the space. With a sigh in my heart, I stared at the neighborhood that had been built where I once skated upon the flooded corn field, trudging all the way here on wobbly ankles and white figure skates. 

Releasing my regret, I walked the back property line, where finally another field to the south stood as guardian to my childhood woods. Soy beans waved in the light breeze, yellowed and ready for harvest. I turned left, listening to the wind rattle the bean pods as I too quickly reached the southeast corner of the woods, the house we built much closer than further, as it was in my memories. 

Allowing my palm to gently wave atop the tall grass, I remembered the old hot wire fence we put up to keep the horses out of the woods. Here was the spot that Shadow simply ran himself through the strands, creating a path for the other horses. I moved deeper toward the center, hoping the ancient Beech tree still stood. The one tree my dad had said not to mess with, especially don’t nail into it. There it stood, silvery bark, carved with generations of teenaged avowals of love, initials, and symbols. Somehow, the steps we’d nailed up the trunk fifty years ago had survived. I wondered…putting my hand upon the first step…

The view from the top was just as I remembered. I closed my eyes, felt peace flow through me. Eyes closed, I watched four horses surge through the fence and into the woods; heard my mother yelling from the back door of the original farmhouse; felt the thrill of my ten year old self scrambling down the tree trunk and haltering my horse with a piece of binding twine and lead the herd back down the lane. I could see it all with my eyes closed. It was so different now, but the memories lay lightly beneath the surface, ready to light up my senses. 

It took me much longer to climb down than it did all those years ago, but still, it was worth it. It wasn’t the same now, but in my mind I could still see it all as it was as I returned to my car. This time, I appreciated the asphalt. Life was better without having to dodge unnecessary potholes and worry about getting sucked into the spring mud. Before I turned toward Charlie’s and the main road, I took one last look. Life moves onward, and it’s true we can never go back; but I swear, just before I turned onto the main road, I heard the laughter of children in the treetops.