I always smile when I think of my childhood. I believe my experiences shaped my soul. It was a time of wonder and exploration. I was brave enough to start new things and naive enough to believe I could do anything. Nothing could stop me.
Those were simple times before cell phones and the internet. Our lives were busy. The days were filled with discovery, and we learned a lot about a wide range of things.
We learned to plant a garden and harvest the vegetables, helping make the pickles, jams and relishes we enjoyed through the winter. We understood compost and the importance of water and sun on plant growth. We knew which insects were good to have around and which ones could destroy our crops.
There was always a field of flowers to run through, and I prided myself on knowing the names of all the blossoms. I knew which branches made the best stick for roasting marshmallows and where to find the sweetest blueberries.
In a nearby pond, I discovered the secret lives of dragonflies and frogs, sometimes bringing home a bucket of frog eggs to care for until the tadpoles emerged. I collected spiders and crickets and drew them in vivid detail before releasing them back into the wild.
There were spectacular lighting storms with hail stones as big as golf balls and windstorms that created swirling masses of sand and dirt. We figured out when rain was coming and how to spot a rainbow after it ended.
Winters involved snowshoeing in the woods, taking the time to identify the tracks left behind by deer and rabbits and the comical wing-prints of birds when they landed in the snow. We knew the calls of the chickadees and sparrows, the finches and the owls.
I had a special place that I would go to when I needed some time to myself. It involved a short hike through a meadow toward a trail that ran through the woods. My child brain had no fear of the creepy crawlies like ticks and bees or the larger, fuzzy creatures such as chipmunks and black bears. I was in the company of nature and was right where I was supposed to be.
The trail ended at the top of a steep hill. In the summer, you could smell the woodsy-sweet smell of blueberry bushes. In the winter, the air would be filled with the sounds of laughter as every child in town slid down the hill on plastic “Crazy Carpets” or pieces of cardboard.
I would often sit at the top of the hill, taking care to make no sound. The only noise came from the rustling of the leaves and the odd bird call. It didn’t matter what season it was; the area would come alive as long as I was still and quiet. Ants crawled over my legs. Birds landed to search the ground for food. Insects buzzed, and a deer would wander into the clearing if I was lucky.
Gazing into the eyes of a deer is a spiritual experience. Even as a child, I understood that it was something special. To be so close to an animal, wishing you could touch it, wanting to talk to it, but knowing that the slightest movement or sound would make it run for the woods, I would watch, barely breathing, as it nibbled a leaf, looked around and then sauntered slowly back to the shelter of the surrounding trees.
The special, quiet moments are the ones that fill my heart with joy, even to this day. I am so thankful to have had those experiences as a child – to understand the connection we have with nature and the seasons. To know the thrill of nature in its most natural state. I am one of the lucky ones who has been able to see into the wilds of my soul.
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