growing up

Our own lovely bleeding hearts from earlier this spring.

Mature landscape is something that has crossed my mind in recent months as being of supreme importance in having a family with children.
It was only of recent musing that I realized I had clear and wonderful memories associated with every tree and shrub in my younger childhood home.

There was the tall cherry tree that we climbed all the time and when it was in fruit, we bit into its firm flesh and spit the pits wherever we pleased, often aiming for whoever was below us.  If you ventured to the top, you felt the swaying of the branches, yet never felt a fear of falling.  It had one very low leafy branch that allowed you to swing up into the tree and then dangle upside until you either swung up to climb further up or somersaulted down to the ground.

Close to this tree was a circular flower bed that had masses of pink bleeding hearts that provided endless amusements of enjoying their puffy flowers and curious dripping look.  I have always loved bleeding hearts because of this memory and was delighted the first spring that we moved in our current home when the front flower beds burst in to the very recognizable leaf of the bleeding heart.

Further out from the bleeding hearts was the concord grape vine trellis built by my mother's father for her to grow just enough grapes to give us our own grape jelly.  I can still picture her stained tea towels as she strained the dark juice and canned it for homemade jelly.  Next to the grape vine was a small weeping willow that was barely climbable but in later years I did manage to dump one of our motorbikes right under it as I panicked, thinking I might be re-enacting the story of Absalom's death.  Thankfully my hair and I survived and so did the motorbike.

Looking in a straight line from the willow tree along the edge of our property was a long row of Rose of Sharon also planted by my grandfather.  The blooms were so large and colorful and numerous, it was fun to pick them and marvel at all the pollen gathered on its inside parts.   After the last Rose of Sharon you were now reaching the other corner edge of the property which was guarded by an old black walnut tree which rained down its huge green globes every summer, which then turned black and dry. At some point, our neighbors and close family friends put their porch swing under one of its huge branches so we could swing out in the open air.

The front yard was flanked by two immense horse chestnut trees which together produced ridiculous amounts of prickly chestnut shells that once finally dried and cracked open, revealed the most glossy brown nut you can imagine.  We picked them up by the bucket fulls and sat down on the long cement steps to admire their smooth and shiny selves.  Chestnut trees' flowers are also large, white and full of nooks and crannies to investigate which we did, not thinking at all about the mess and effort these trees bring to those mowing the grass.  It's only now as an adult I can imagine what a pain it must have been to have these trees in our yard. But as a kid, they were yet another wonderful area to spend time playing.

Around the side of the house that we used as a main entrance and driveway was the crumbling remains of more cement steps that, having long been abandoned for daily use, grew the most amazing miniature succulents and moss-type plants that provided yet more interest and exploration.  Looking up from this little slope towards the house were huge green ferns that grew all along the porch and around the corner towards the outside cellar steps in the cool shade.  I have always loved ferns even though they produce no flower, but they give an area such lush greenery that feels so cool even on the hottest summer days.

Around the driveway side of the house and heading up to the back meadow where my mother planted her large vegetable garden was a very tall and full pine tree that covered the ground with its long needles and gave us plenty of room to sit under and collect piles of pine cones and make hide-outs and all sorts of play ideas.

When I think of the hours we must have spent outside, visiting each of these areas in turn, I shake my head in wonder at how blessed that old home was with natural play areas needing nothing than more than our imaginations and the occasional pail and shovel.  Even now, I wonder if my parents understand what a gift this type of play was for all of us kids.  To be safe, yet free to roam and discover all these created pleasures.  It is something I have hearkened back to much now as I try to provide a safe, but more natural play area for our three children and their various playmates.

Mature landscape, plenty of green plants, flowers and fauna to watch grow and explore in detail is an amazing part of childhood that cannot be replaced with toys, no matter how non-toxic or earth-friendly they are, I think.

In addition to this unfettered access to creation, came with it the much needed time to be out there and enjoying it.  Time to just be. Time to see what a fern looks like as it spirals out and unrolls its fronds in the dark shade.  Time to wait and watch when the bleeding hearts are at their fullest and plumpest.  Time to sit quietly and be content with a handful of pine cones and a soft bed of dried needles.  Time to practice swinging and reaching and climbing until you can go higher and higher into the windiest boughs of the cherry tree, no longer afraid of looking down on your distant yard and feeling a bit more like the birds.
Just time to be and to watch and notice. That's what we had and I appreciate that now more than words can adequately say.

I have only mentioned the trees and plants in our own yard, I still have yet to describe the wonders found on the properties of our neighbors that we were welcomed to play with and treat as our own. I simply marvel over all that we enjoyed.