my home part one

Childhood has a unique purpose, it would seem.  Every child is a tablet, permanently etching  the sights, smells , sounds, and tastes of youth.  Magical moments are  captured forever in an unjaded, uncrowded, unspoiled mind.  The best memories (and the worst) of my childhood were etched  after leaving Florida and settling on the Southern Oregon Coast. 

How can I convey my love for the Oregon Coast? The magic and beauty of this place was imprinted on my memory when I first came at the age of 9.  Now , at the age of 39, it seems as though the  aura  and mystery of this area are encoded into my DNA.   

I love the warm, grassy fragrance of the country and the stringently clean smell of the oceanside.  I love the thickly Christmassy smell of the forests and even the muddy fishy odor of the bay at low tide.  So much diversity in such a small place- It is impossible to be truly bored! (in the sense of having nothing to do)

And now a few words about boredom: It is a gift. Its a gateway to discovery. It is a privilege every parent should afford his child whenever possible. Yes, that is utterly contrary to the way things work in the here-and-now. But something gorgeous happens when young children are bored.  Its as if a gulf of creativity yawns open inside them and  pours out.  They delight in the simplest, loveliest aspects of life and nature. Learning and play merge as one.  In short, having "nothing" to do becomes "something" to do! 

As a child, my brother, sister, and I had plenty of time with "nothing" to do.  Consequently, we made great memories. As toddlers, Timothy and Danielle loved a game they called "holding down the sun". In the last hours of daylight as the shadows crept up the yard and towards the house, they would prostrate themselves on the grass.  A child's  desire to hold onto the day.

We were poor and lived far from town, so the "twins", as we called them , were obliged to make their own doll clothes. Scraps of old material, papertowels,  even tissues would become dresses for Danielle's dolls. Timothy would fashion clothing for his favorite stuffed animal. They played for hours in this way.

I loved to collect eggs from the chicken coop. The warm, smooth eggs felt good in my hand as I pulled them from under indignant hens. Those eggs seemed like art to me. God's perfection in nature.

If I was in trouble(which was most of the time) the pastures were an enduring solace.  The sweet smelling grasses often grew waist high and made a convenient get-away. I would lie down in that grass and stare at the sky for so long that I would begin to feel a certain disequalibrium. The solid earth beneath me would pull me back again.

When the breezes blew softly over the pasture, the grasses riffled in waves. Down on the ground, in my secret place, I was a part of it. The wave would pass through me as though I were the grass itself. Oneness.