Saturday Mix – Pastoral Memories

Nostalgic thoughts of growing up in the country, miles from other households and other visages of populated scenarios remind me of how very thankful I am. Everyday nuances taken for granted when not experienced first hand by a child cannot be fathomed by a book, or movie. You may build farms, towns and even mountains or forests with your fingers on an electronic device, but it is no comparison to actually being there in the moment.  

The smells of grass surrounding you as you lay on a sculptured meadow, watching birds build a nest, the feel of your fingers holding a dandelion just before blowing the seeds away, or the breeze on your face holding the aroma of freshly hewn hay. These precious memories you need to hold dear to your heart when you are disheartened by the modern daily news.  

Memories may flood your mind as you hold your head close to an open car window, your senses searching for anything as real as you remember them. Even a country outing one day opens to a world of noisy machinery making its way down a corn field and won’t bring them back. It’s the quiet hum of an ancient tractor smoothly making its way down row after row of alfalfa you want to hear and smell.

Even a walk in a saved forest wood is turned upside down by dodging stealthy ten speed bicycles. They whirr by if you’re lucky enough to sidestep their path. When you finally reach your destination, settle yourself on a boulder to admire the quiet gurgle of a stream, you will see remnants of a previous picnic scattered about ruining the pastoral scene.

It is nostalgic to remember what life used to be like, seen through the eyes of a child.

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/06/03/saturdays-mix-3-june-2017/

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10 thoughts on “Saturday Mix – Pastoral Memories

  1. The point? “You may build farms, towns and even mountains or forests with your fingers on an electronic device, but it is no comparison to actually being there in the moment”.

    Thanks, Rugby843 … I’ve always wondered who you really are? I always post my real name. Cheers Jamie

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  2. At my age of five. My parents moved to a house of small proportion, compared to North American State rural memories. Yet every bit as poignant. Post war Britain. Was it’s own beast. Depleted by bankers and their aggressions on the European continent. Not one but two. So-called world wars. Had knocked the stuffing from our people. Yet, we survived. In part because the American people, ordinary people helped.

    In 1954 my family moved into what was then a large house. With an overgrown garden, left from years of neglect and that WW2. At 5 the grass grew over my head. There were fruit trees, that the August summer heat brought forth wasps. Aggressively protective of their domains. Plums, apples, pears. Shrubs of black currant and blackberry. Across the road a 100 acre park and farms within walking distance.

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