I grew up in a bucolic setting. I was privileged to be surrounded by country, complete with grass, trees, forest, brooks, swamp and hills. We had stone walls separating our fields from brown dirt roads, and one of my favorite pastimes was seeking out unusual rocks. I climbed trees, went ice skating and sledding, swimming, and building dams in the brooks, and hunted vining ground plants for Christmas wreaths in the woods. I searched spring meadows for the first blooms of the season, dodged tent caterpillars hanging from huge trees, swung from haylofts on unsteady ropes, and marveled at the sun shown colors on rainbow trout. A huge oak tree provided a wooden swing where I spent a lot of time, observing Red Winged Blackbirds on the swamp cattails, or leaning back and seeing the Baltimore Orioles’ long nests above me.
Having two hundred acres to roam free letting my imagination run wild as I acted out scenes from books was such a treat. These are just a few of the many advantages I had as a child growing up in such a setting.