Well, I'm supposed to be writing, as I am a writer by training and "nature", afterall. So, here goes. I have it in my mind, and have now for quite a while, that I will someday complete and publish a memoir of what it was like to grow up where I did. I think people would find it interesting to know what being on the side of a mountain in VT before the age of the Internet, cable TV, sewer connection (we did have septic) and the like was really like. It was cool!
My sister and I learned so much through imaginative play. This is something that I am workin on passing along to my kids.
Recently, we visited a friend at their home where they have kids, and they were shocked to find out that my child does not watch television or videos. It's wonderful!!
Today's memory: The smell on freshly cut pine wood makes me think of my Dad's workshop on the hill behind our house. More than that, it brings me back to a gut memory (not one that I can configure clearly as I was so young when it was formed) of Grampa Bate's wood shop and mill.
From the time I was a baby (6 months old) until I was old enough to be a real latch-key kid (under the supervision of our neighbor and mother of 4, Mrs. Hansen), I went to Gramma Bates' for daycare. She was "the better half" of one of our town's founding families, running a daycare out of her farm home. Her husband was a real old Vermonter. He watched the "Across the Fence" farm report each day after lunch while laying on the couch in his pea-soup-green coveralls. Until I was probably 5, I laid on top of his stomach while he watched, enjoying his warm safety.
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