Today, I took a leisurely kayak trip along the edge of a slow lake. Slow, that is, except for when a motor boat passed by. I love those moments, when the kayak is set to rocking and rolling upon the surge of waves each boat produces. It’s a gentle swoosh of up and down motion. Next thing I knew, that motion had rocked me right down to memory lane. Though it was not a wave for which I reminisced, rather, the swaying of the boat, reminded me a great deal of the swaying of a certain Maple tree within which I used to nap as a girl, 20 or so feet up in the air. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
As a youth, I had the great fortune (or misfortune, depending upon how you look at it) to be one who traveled often. Like a military child, only more so than they. On this particular year my mother and I had moved to a new home at the very start of school vacation. New home, new town. consequently I knew not a soul, but not to worry, I set out right away to find what children I could and to make my friends where I could find them. It was perhaps my 9th or 10th year.
I expected it would be an easy thing, to find groups of children playing stick-ball in the street, or at least a few children in their backyards. But alas, this new neighborhood had very slim pickins. It all worked out in the end, proving to be one of the best years of my youth, but at this time in the very beginning? Very slim indeed. Continue reading