Childhood memories. Today’s writing prompt at The Community Storyboard.
Originally posted on The Community Storyboard:
I grew up in a very small town in upstate New York. Fort Hunter was on the other side of the Mohawk River, across the old narrow bridge from where the action happened. The action being school, shopping, other people. I often wonder if my childhood would have been different if I hadn’t felt so isolated in that town of a few hundred. Isolated because most of schoolmates lived across the river, yet I always felt like I was being watched, studied for my eccentricities. Small towns can make you paranoid.
Yet what I liked most about where I lived was that it was in the country, fairly surrounded by farm land. A corn field bordered our back yard. Another one was across our street, and still another stretched between the house next to us and the two-room schoolhouse where I went to first and second grades. I still remember the still, humid air of summer and the drone of flies, the sound of my father’s push mower as he sliced through grass and the sweet smell of that freshly cut grass scenting the air.
I remember the fall, my favorite season, with the riot of reds, oranges, and yellows in the trees, the jugs of apple cider that we would get from the apple mill (in another town, of course), the sweet, creamy pumpkin pies, the bite of the crisp air making me feel alive among the spreading decay.