New Hampshire: the playground of my youth

This place, day or night has been my home in ways that no other places has been. In a life of transience, chosen and obligatory, this place has been the constant in my life. This place has been my family for longer (forever) and in more ways than any other... and now with adult eyes I see the playground of my youth. I see the blueberry bushes thick with unripe fruit; I see the grass that grows where my grandfather's garden used to thrive; I see the chipping paint on the deck where my annual photograph was taken for my first two decades; I see the spaces he left empty and the space that he used to fill so well. I smell the calm on the warm breeze in the afternoon. I feel the evening rain on my skin and know that when I leave the house will miss me. I watch three generations of wild turkeys feed on the freshly cut hay in the back field that no longer serves a purpose. And optimistically I test the raspberry bushes knowing full well that it's berries wont be properly ripe until days after I leave this place, but I keep testing anyway. Something about the sun-warmed tart burst and the numerous seeds encapsulated in every single berry keeps me reaching for more. I have always preferred the ALMOST ripe ones to the overly ripe excessively sweet ones. And so my last moments at this forever castle of my dreams are marked with reminiscence.(The dreams of my childhood and the dreams for my future were crafted here...) The dreams have changed, the girl has changed... the woman was born and the dreams changed again, but the castle remains... a farm and a playground of my childhood for all time. Clouds cover the sky. The wind blows them South. The rain falls. The land sighs and the Sun comes again. It is this pattern that will repeat itself in the playground of my youth.

A Bike race: Massachusetts

On an early Saturday morning we woke to a misty dawn, drove to the good ole' state of Massachusetts to watch my cousin ride in a bike race: 15 miles, 17 laps around the center of a small town in just under 40 minutes. In a family largely populated by men an notorious for such, I, the oldest grandchild and first girl in a while make it my business to support the troops when ever I can. Sean, the cousin in question and number 6 or 7 (because he has a twin) rode for a team he has recently joined from New Jersey. The drive was beautiful. The town was quaint, as most New England towns are. And the race was magnificent. The speed and strength, the endurance, heart and courage demonstrated to say nothing of the skill and the knowledge required to preform was impressive to say the least. I am so proud of the accomplishments of my cousin... admitting to knowing nothing about bike racing, I am still proud of him... for what I do know is that He is wonderful. And it is so rare that I get to see my extended family that any opportunity is well worth the effort. I am proud of you Sean. YOU ARE WONDERFUL> all my love to you.
He is the Blur in yellow in all the pictures above.