FW Nostalgia and Perspective

The farmhouse. North behind the house the ground slopes down into a gully. The frog pond sits stagnant at the bottom. Five minutes walk up the road brings you to the dairy. West from the house are the lilac bushes, the tool house, and the corral. South sits the potato cellar, another corral, and the huge gas tanks for the machinery. East the driveway leads out to the single road where a pinto pony stands, made of welded barrels and a mailbox for a head,painted all white and black. And in every direction miles and miles of fields grow to the horizon.

The place is nostalgic in my memories a vanished place of childhood. Now everything has shrunk. A taller perspective and a couple of decades have somehow stolen away the wonder. Climbing the horse gate is no challenge anymore. But in memory it's still a wondrous place. With memories comes the wonder of perspective: how in teh world did I not get into more trouble for everything I got into? The realization that being the first grandkid gets you rather spoiled. Having three teenage aunts who love having you around and always help cover for you doesn't hurt either.

Still what in the world was I thinking when I clogged the sink with cheese curds? Vicki my youngest aunt and favorite babysitter was kinda exasperated with that one. Putting Maria's* plastic cup in the oven and cranking it up to high? Was that to warm up the water or because I couldn't reach the sink and thought it would clean it? In any case it didn't turn out the way expected. Standing eye-level with the glass in the oven door we watched it melt down and envelop the rack before somebody noticed the smell and came running. The only thing that I really got in trouble for though was the fireplace incident. (To be continued...)

*Maria was my baby sister, followed me everywhere and was never quiet, not even for a second.