We went on a bike ride yesterday. Caleb is just shy of being too heavy for the seat strapped to the back. I wanted to take advantage of a few more fast rides (where I wouldn't be stopping to drag his tiny but impossibly heavy training-wheel clad bike up the hills). Jack was on his scooter. Maddie rode her pink and purple bike. Parker is at camp (but that's another post).
After strapping Caleb in the seat, we stuffed every nook and cranny with apples, bananas, and water bottles. It was a short ride - just up to the school's new playground - but I knew they'd be hungry and thirsty after only a few minutes of riding. It was hot and humid and sunny and glorious.
When we arrived, they devoured the snacks and ran to the playground. I leaned against the school wall in the shade and slid down to sit on the ground. A brick column hid them from view, but their laughter was carried to me by the occasional gust of warm wind. I was instantly swept back to my own childhood. This place felt so familiar.
The familiar click-click-click-buzzzzzz of some unseen insect provided a constant, almost unnoticeable soundtrack to the day. Birds chattered, concealed in nearby trees. A robin landed nearby, head erect, hopping along with his little red chest puffed out arrogantly. Tree branches hung heavy in the heat under the weight of thick, dark green leaves. Clouds so round and white you could almost convince yourself they were made of cotton drifted slowly across a royal blue sky. A tiny yellow moth flitted through the grass and weeds. Even the weeds looked lacy and pretty here in the shade.
I was looking at a scene from my childhood (one county over and decades later). It felt magical. I wondered, is it more than just familiarity that makes it special? Would a stranger to the region feel the same love for this land? I honestly didn't know.
I thought of my grandma's garden on Griffiths Avenue. Behind her tidy little house a well-tended garden bursted with reds and purples, pinks and yellows. Many hours were spent enjoying that garden in the back. She certainly loved this land. Then I thought of the little old women I saw walking down the streets of Singapore or practicing Tai Chi in the park near my favorite cafe. Did their hearts swell when they looked at the flowers in their own gardens? I imagine they did.
What a beautiful gift - homeland. What a gift that we all have precious homelands.
The kids returned from the playground. I was glad they didn't see the tears in my eyes. I didn't want to have to explain. I just tucked the gift into my heart and lifted Caleb into his seat.
After strapping Caleb in the seat, we stuffed every nook and cranny with apples, bananas, and water bottles. It was a short ride - just up to the school's new playground - but I knew they'd be hungry and thirsty after only a few minutes of riding. It was hot and humid and sunny and glorious.
When we arrived, they devoured the snacks and ran to the playground. I leaned against the school wall in the shade and slid down to sit on the ground. A brick column hid them from view, but their laughter was carried to me by the occasional gust of warm wind. I was instantly swept back to my own childhood. This place felt so familiar.
The familiar click-click-click-buzzzzzz of some unseen insect provided a constant, almost unnoticeable soundtrack to the day. Birds chattered, concealed in nearby trees. A robin landed nearby, head erect, hopping along with his little red chest puffed out arrogantly. Tree branches hung heavy in the heat under the weight of thick, dark green leaves. Clouds so round and white you could almost convince yourself they were made of cotton drifted slowly across a royal blue sky. A tiny yellow moth flitted through the grass and weeds. Even the weeds looked lacy and pretty here in the shade.
I was looking at a scene from my childhood (one county over and decades later). It felt magical. I wondered, is it more than just familiarity that makes it special? Would a stranger to the region feel the same love for this land? I honestly didn't know.
I thought of my grandma's garden on Griffiths Avenue. Behind her tidy little house a well-tended garden bursted with reds and purples, pinks and yellows. Many hours were spent enjoying that garden in the back. She certainly loved this land. Then I thought of the little old women I saw walking down the streets of Singapore or practicing Tai Chi in the park near my favorite cafe. Did their hearts swell when they looked at the flowers in their own gardens? I imagine they did.
What a beautiful gift - homeland. What a gift that we all have precious homelands.
The kids returned from the playground. I was glad they didn't see the tears in my eyes. I didn't want to have to explain. I just tucked the gift into my heart and lifted Caleb into his seat.
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