I grew up in an old farmhouse in the country. We had chickens, a lamb, a pig, rabbits and numerous dogs and cats. The plums were sweet and juicy, the apples tart and tangy. My siblings and I worked in the strawberry fields during the summer to make money. In the fall we would collect walnuts and hazelnuts – receiving a small pittance for our work. We would climb trees, ride our bikes and play ball. We often would try to make a clubhouse of sorts out in the old abandoned pigpen or the dilapadated run-down barn that hadn’t been used for decades. I remember laying in the yard on an old mattress looking up at the summer sky at night – then putting the same mattress in the back of the pickup, laying down flat on my back as my mom drove through the country in the summer sun. We were very poor but I never knew it for the most part. Life was how it was. I love the memories I have and wish at times that I could return there – not just to the place where I grew up but to the time of childhood – no responsibilities, no real problems, no worry or anxiety. A life far away from where I am right now. Oh how wondrous that would be.