Tiny hands big creek.

How fast the time flies by. Everyday closer to something new, yet further from things past. From Presidential elections being around the corner, to school shopping, the fairs, the rodeo, it seems endless. Summer is supposed to be relaxing. A time to refocus. Instead we find ourselves rushing from work to babysitters, sports, to home. Quick hellos and goodnights only to do it again the next day. I swear it seems that as an at home mom, I just watch the world buzzing around me like working bees preparing their hives.

I have decided, for now I'm looking at yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Settling on that concept, I decided that today I would take my nieces and eldest son to the creek behind my sister in law, Kim’s house. Exploring, teaching and becoming one with nature, is the only way I know to "slow time."

Boots on and mismatched Tupperware in hand, we walked down through the woods. The woods seemed to invite us. Welcoming us with its branches stretched to the sky. We hiked slowly passing beautiful wild flowers from periwinkle to jewel weed. The wild grapes draped over the apple trees as if offering us shelter from the rain if threatened. The bed of pine needles sponged under our feet as we walked giving us the illusion that they would be soft if we were barefoot. Poison ivy climbed up the trees left and right avoiding it was a daunting task.

Along the winding trail to the creek was a clearing littered with black raspberries. Filling our dishes and our bellies, we risked the scratches from the thorns for the delicious snacks. Quinn at four years old, looked up at me with her purple little smile and melted my heart as she explained to me that “They are better than candy Aunt Ivory!” Ashlynn repeated as much of grammas jam recipe as she could remember calling the berry patch a “gold mine.” I was impressed how much of it she could remember considering she is only 7.

As we reached the crest of the ravine my sister in law, Kim clutched her daughter's hands attempting to contain their childhood fearlessness. My 13 year old son, Jeffrey however shot down the embankment, feet first like a professional snowboarder. Once down, he offered his hand to the girls like a gentleman. The crisp water was so refreshing it almost took our minds off of the relentless mosquitos swarming. The stream that was normally only inches deep and about 10 foot wide, was swollen from the recent rain. There was debris along the edges as proof of this week’s storms. The crayfish however didn’t seem to care they were under every slate rock we lifted. They shot backwards swimming with incredible accuracy right into out hands.

Salamanders slithered threw the current with busy little agendas only to end up in clear Tupperware bowls. The girls ages 4 and 7 examined them with the purest eyes. “Why are they so soft? Why so many spots? Are they girls or boys? Do you think they like us?” Kim and I answered the best we could, whipping out our phones to google what little we were unsure of.  

With the sun setting over the tree tops we began to release our critters back into the water thanking them for their participation. Just then when we thought natures surprises were over, we heard a giant “whapping” sound right next to us. Focusing on the direction in which it came, we realized that we had been sharing the stream with a Blue Herron. “A dinosaur bird!” My nieces shouted. It flapped so strong and hard only to take fight delicately and slowly. We chatted about our adventure as we made our way back to their house.

My son and I got into the truck and I had a moment of bittersweet sadness. My kids are not getting any younger. Every bump, scratch and tear they have gotten while exploring the world has made them into who they are. Stronger and smarter than I could have ever expected. They have lived. The beauty of the outdoors has taught them so much about life. Where we live is amazing. Everything you need is right outside I hope as they leave this nest in the next few years that they never forget nature’s lessons.

My Place

Of all of the places, in all of the world, I would like to take you to a field. It is a place that completes me. As a child I ran and grew with the wild milk weed at my side. Heated by the sun, and warm with love; This breathless landscape was sown together with morning glories; black eyed Suzie’s and Queen Ann’s lace.

            The beautiful smells of strawberries, blackberries and raspberries would tickle at my belly. The sounds of the poplar trees flirting with the wind would make me feel safe. Everything was always okay as long as their leaves sang gently into my ears. Over their whispers I could hear the buzz of locus and the soft “who” of the morning doves searching for love.

            Depending on the flowers, which were in bloom, I knew if the summer was slipping from my fingers and falling asleep in the autumn breeze. When the mustard plants grew tall and milk weed bloomed like little corn husks, the fire flies disperse, I begin to sadden. Then at that moment, more than ever, I would urn for the smell of apple blossoms and lilacs. Returning my thoughts of spring. They encircle this perfect spot like a picture frame, holding my memories for eternity. These amazing trees strong and tall, bared the fruits that filled my creativity.

            It is amazing how a square of weeds can raise a child up to respect life and to love unconditionally. Such a cherished place shall never go to waste. I now as an adult with my family live here. I built my dream where it all began. I will now and forever grow with the ever changing seasons. My family and I will blossom with the spring and sleep with the fall, making jam with its berries and pies with its apples. We will feed our hearts and souls until one day, at Gods call, we return to its rich soil.