Fresh eyes
Population: 2,600 – no malls, fast-food restaurants, stop lights or movie theaters
Man, I wanted to get out of that little town. When I saw the world that was beyond the borders of the tiny, Midwestern city I grew up in, I didn’t know how anyone would choose to live there. I admit it has its charm – we knew all our neighbors, shared a street with our best friends and felt rather safe in our homes and in our schools. But, I thought excitement and the town were mutually exclusive.
.
My parents still live in the same house I grew up in. There have been some changes – adding two bathrooms (after my brother & I left the nest, of course), remodeling the kitchen to accommodate more than one cook (though Mom still prefers to go it alone in there) and lots of furniture, decor and flooring changes. The woodburning fireplace is gone – the one with the beautiful, bright golden amulette on the front, near where we used to dry our snowpants and boots, after playing in the snow.
.
I don’t get there as often as my Parents would like, but the kids & I took an impromptu trip by ourselves this past weekend. My two oldest had a long weekend, so we were able to stay longer. We drove straight through and got into town in time for root beer floats and fun with rubber band guns.
.
.
It seems my childhood was only 3 1/2 hours away. My Dad found my old rubber band shooter, which my Grandpa fashioned out of wood. I had almost forgotten about it. Days before, my Mom, with her thrifty Eagle eyes, found a wooden target for the shooter at Goodwill and they both couldn’t wait to show the kids.
.
.
I knew my boys would get a kick out of the shooter. My daughter even got into it and I had to take some shots with the old toy myself. They were entertained for hours – and had no issues taking turns. This does NOT happen often, so I thanked God for small miracles.
.
The next day, after church, we drove by my old elementary school. As we passed by it, we saw the old sledding hill near the playground and knew what our next activity for the day would be. I had brought the kids’ snow gear and sleds, in hopes we’d be able to play outside. It was a glorious day – sun shining and mild temps (and by mild, I mean 33 degrees). We got plenty of runs in and played on the playground. I happily snapped a bunch of shots of my old school, the playground and even my Mom & Dad racing down the hill on my kids’ Zipfys.
.
.
.
If that wasn’t enough fun, when we got back to the house, my middle son Ace wanted to stay outside. He has so much of his Dad in him. He’s Mister on-the-go, can’t-sit-down, let’s-keep-going. My other two went in to get warmed up. I decided to stay out and play, much to the delight of my 7-year old.
.
That’s when I saw him.
.
My Dad – working way out back, starting a brush fire – in the snow.
.
.
He let Ace help build it and I watched the wonder in his eyes and the big smile that was widening his face. My Dad’s strong, calloused-from-hard-labor hands, wrapped in gloves – grabbing and breaking branches, while gently showing Ace where to place them. He talked about how the fire would build from the newspaper and brush, finding the dry parts, slowly melting the snow on the other side and working its way up.
.
.
In that moment, I saw my backyard and my Dad like I did when I was a kid. There’s about 1 1/2 acres to the side and back of the house. It’s filled with big pines, oaks and birch trees. There are trails, hills and a dried up creek back there, where my brother and I used to ride our dirt bikes, take nature walks, sit and make plans and have snowball fights.
.
.
It’s really quite beautiful, but I hadn’t seen it like that for years. I talked to my Dad about all the trees. He pointed out that the huge oaks towering overhead had been just 10-12 feet high when I was little. He showed me where a storm had taken off the tops of some trees and how many were now dying or dead. The brush he was using to build the fire was from one of those trees.
.
.
My Dad showed Ace a tree that woodpeckers were working hard to make like swiss cheese.
.
.
Pretty soon, Ace got the idea to start a snow fort and asked for my help. I headed into my Dad’s garage and grabbed some ice cream buckets, just like I used to. The snow was awesome for packing. Ace marked out the perimeter and asked that I start on the other side. We worked together and in no time, we had the makings of a pretty nice structure. By that time, the word got out about the fun to be had and the fire. Gus and PIP came out to help and then we took a break to build a snowman and PIP built a pint-sized snowgirl.
.
.
Nana brought out lunch, Papa grabbed some benches and we had a beautiful picnic in the snow, warmed by the brush fire. We had hotdogs, chips, lemonade and in true Nana fashion, s’mores.
.
.
After we filled up, we went back to the fort. We all pitched in, Gus learning how to pack and level off the bucket just so to form a solid block. When we finished, the kids were eager to get in and try it out. They happily sat for many pictures, which is another small miracle.
.
.
Then, Ace & PIP ran off to help Papa with the fire and Gus just sat with a big grin on his face. He was having the time of his life. I sat in the fort with him. Then, we laid down and rested our heads on the overturned ice cream pails. I took in the sites and the sounds – almost crystal clear silence.
.
.
We spent a large amount of the day outside in the crisp, clean air. I breathed it in deep – the moment, the memories, the fun. We were tired, but exhilarated. I now remembered that feeling. There was always so much to see and do, even in the confines of the town I considered too small for my taste.
.
.
Sometimes, all you need are fresh eyes to see an old place in a whole new way.
