Leaving my Uncle Melvin's farm after a day of wading in his creek, came the long drive home. Squeezed between my sister Pat and my brother Francis in our old Lasalle. Cathy on mom's lap in the front seat and my brother Micheal riding shotgun, Dad drove slow to enjoy the countryside. The silhouette of distant trees speeding by against the deep indigo sky set my imagination afire. Flickering tiny lights of fireflies just above the alfalfa fields and a pale yellow moon rising between the oak trees excited me.
Dreams were planted on those rides home. The Sunday night bath erased the smell of chickens and goats but the dreams were mine to lull me to sleep. Dreams of being a farmer with horses and cows and a hayloft so big and sweet smelling, a playground for my friends. Prayers included blessings for mom and dad and my brothers and sisters. In Sunday night prayers I added all the animals I'd named too. The scene that led me to my dreams under the moon on those June nights was a promise I'd explore those distant woods I’d seen someday. But come Monday morning it was chores - watering the garden, pick up Major's poop (he was our dog, who in my dreams could climb the ladder up to the hayloft) and so much more. Night dreams turned to day dreams and in them Major was kind to the mice in the loft and was friends to the little brown owl who lived in the high peaks. Barn swallows chattered away as I watched over my cows grazing on the hillside. Millions of yellow butterflies lined the banks of the blue creek I would cool off in after milking my cows and riding my horse around my farm. Sleep, or mom telling me, “enough with the water,” ended these dreams of my youth.
