When I was about four, my folks bought 70 acres of farmland.
They spent the next seven years building a house and garage so
we could live in the country.
It took seven years because Dad worked six days a week, so
Sundays and his vacation time was the only time they had to do
what needed doing to make a new home. Plus, it was Ohio and
the weather wasn't agreeable for construction about five months
of the year.
My Mom's father and two of her brothers were bricklayers and
stone masons, so they took care of that part of the work. Electric
and plumbing was done by professionals because of the required
permits and inspections. The rest was done by mom and dad.
Anyway... one front corner of the property was a copse of huge
old trees and long, soft grass that never got mowed. (Not all yards
need to look like they are trimmed with cuticle scissors.)
In the Spring, that green carpet became engorged with daffodils
and grape hyacinths. It was my favorite place to play.
I never picked any of the flowers. They were where they should
have been. It was a wonderland for my imagination.
Those beautiful flowers have been missing from that corner
for more than three decades... since the property was sold.
Still, I remember and I visit that beautiful corner in the country
every Spring. It only exists in my memory but it's just as radiant
in my mind's eye now as it was for that little girl so many years ago.
