I milked early the morning, the moon still visible in the sky, the air heavy and fragrant with the remnants of nighttime rain. I love when it rains in the night, and just hard enough that I woke in the dark to raindrops on my face angling through the open window above my head. Huck the cat sleeping at my side, beyond range of the window and thus unperturbed. I sat up and pulled the window down, but not quite all the way, because I wanted to hear the rain as I drifted back to sleep. Huck rose, rotated himself a time or two, and settled down again, purring softly.
I like sleeping next to animals, and I like being woken in the night in such a gentle way, all the unbidden thoughts and memories that rise to the surface during these semi-conscious moments. Last night it was me riding my Big Wheel in the swath of shorn grass behind my father as he mowed at the cabin where we spent most of the first six or seven years of my life. Which is odd, because I do not recall there being a lawn, but the image and sensation of it are so strong. I’m certain that’s where it was.
My parents still own the land where that cabin still stands, though it’s been many years since it’s been fit for human habitation. It’s about 90 minutes north and west of here; I haven’t been there for nearly a decade. It’s a beautiful piece of land, 150-acres or so, not far from the Canadian border. I think maybe I’ll head up there again soon, wander the woods a bit.
By the time I finished milking I could still see the moon, but only faintly. The sky patches of grey and steely blue. I walked back to the house with the bucket of milk, moving slow, thinking about how much I have to do today, thinking I should move faster, put this task behind me and move onto the next. Thinking that I’m pretty sure I never got my boys a Big Wheel, and how I wish I had.
12 thoughts on “How I Wish I Had”
the no-to-Big-Wheels years. how we move on or turn slightly away. how what worked then doesn’t work now. the shifting of the shade, the noticing of the variations of shade. how the shades of life become ever more nuanced yet somehow simpler, easier to navigate, lighter
There you go spoiling us with these frequent posts again. Whatever is inspiring you to spend time and thought in this space, I hope it continues. I’ve been going through old photos, letters and such in the slow preparation for our move and these kind of misty remembrances have been playing in my mind lately, as well. Thanks for such beautiful imagery.
Interesting. You haven’t been back to the cabin of your boyhood in a decade. Guess family and the work on your homestead and all that stuff. Yeah- I think a trip up there would be good – specially if you’re thinking and dreaming about it.
This reminded me how I got a plastic Big Wheel for my older one for a $1 at a second hand store, and between the previous owners, and my two kids, they beat it up so badly, that eventually the big wheel thinned out into nothingness (contribution of suburban paved sidewalks). But they looked so tough on it! 🙂
There’s still hope….someday your sons may have kids, so if you find a used BigWheel, just get it and stuff it in a barn or something.
Curious, what town was your folks cabin in?
That’s up there all right. We once had to go to a Little League final in Richford, and it felt like it took all day to get there.
Just curious, but don’t most people dig their cellar holes before they build the house?
So I hear. But where’s the challenge in that?!?
I’m so confused. You talked up the BFR foundation so much! What happened?
First rule: Don’t believe everything you think
Second rule: Don’t believe everything I say.
Follow those, and you should do ok;)
(there’s slightly more to the story than that, of course)