Do you remember as a child, the weather? No not the actual weather but how you felt about the weather. I remember running to the window when it snowed. Pressing my face against the window pane and feeling the cold. Being in utter awe at the snow as it fell silently to the ground. Hurrying to get my outside clothes on to experience all mother nature had to give. To plop myself down and make snow angels, not just one but many. To grab the sleds and fly down the hill, making a jump to see how high I could fly. Winter held many of the joys of childhood, feelings of freedom and speed, and the artistic presentation of a snowman or a snow angel. In the spring I felt other things, such as the rain upon my face. I didn’t seem to care if I got wet it was enjoyable to splash among the puddles, to feel the mud between your fingers and toes. To feel the rebirth of all the many things that rain and more sunshine brought to my world. To go with my grandmother and pick May flowers, and smell their heavenly scent. To smell the many farm smells in the spring did not always bring feelings of good smells, but now as I go past a farm, oh the memories it brings back. To feel and smell the fresh turned earth being readied for planting. Yes, spring brought feelings of renewal. Summer brought feelings of splendor. The smell of fresh cut hay, I can still smell it in my mind. A summer rain when we could convince my grandfather(It wasn’t hard) to grab an alder pole and go fishing. To tramp through the forest to a running brook or river, total freedom. To drop a line and catch a fish, to feel it wiggle and know that a fresh fish fry was about to begin. The smell of the fish we’d caught cooking on an open fire, in a fry pan with homemade butter and cornmeal. I’m getting hungry just remembering. To feel the wind brush through my hair as I rode the load of hay to the barn. Talk about on top of the world. To work all day and feel the tired that a good days work at any age feels and then sit down with the many relatives that came and went at my grandparents home and taste the simple pleasures and simple goodness from food raised on the farm. I can still taste the fresh peas with homemade butter and fresh potatoes that graced my grandmothers table. To feel the love at that table to me as a child, there was no comparison. Then fall, a time of joy for myself as a child. To rake the leaves just so you could jump in and bury yourself among them. To hear them gently fall down upon you after your great jump. To smell the early signs of deterioration as those leaves gently started to go back to the earth. To feel the wetness and the crispness as leaves from above and below joined together. To feel the cold wind as it lets you know that winter is on it’s way again.

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