My siblings and I, skipping, running, laughing as we make our way from the woods to the meadow. The dirt road is full of stones varying in size and shape. Worn out soles of my saddle shoes allow stones to poke at my tootsies and heals. At the bot-tom of this hilly road we see the meadow. Buckets in tow, we walk across the dirt road, blackened with oil, on this hot and dry summer day.
Reaching the meadow, we spread out, searching for the tiny wild strawberries. The flowers— lipstick red, sunshine yellow and tangerine orange; Mommy told me those are called Indian Paintbrushes. Their stems are tall and their blooms are small, but, oh, they are so pretty. We find the old water well and, of course, I must play with it, filling my bucket with make-believe water.
The sun is high in the sky, the heat in the mead-ow invites a buzzing choir to join with us; insects near and far. I hear a dog barking in the distance and a chain saw. I am reminded of the sweet smell of pine.
With full buckets we depart the meadow, back across the oil laden dirt road, up the dirt and rocky road, down and up until we reach camp. Mommy smiles when she sees all of the wild berries we picked. Peanut butter and jelly and a tin of Charles Chips. Mom shares a treat of chocolate milk; purchased from the milk man this morning.
Beyond the fire wood pile, back in the woods, I see interesting white growths popping out of dead leaves and moss. When asked, Mom tells me they are Indian Pipes. The berries are soaking, we are donning swimsuits. It is time to head to the lake.
I will never forget this day - Indian things, sweet odors, melodious summer sounds and spending time with my big sisters, Debbie and Wendy, and my big brother, Billy. I am a very lucky little girl.