Posts Tagged ‘childhood’
imagination
When I was little, I lived in Alberta, in a house built by my father and mother. At the back of the house was a veranda. Below the veranda was a big vegetable garden, full of corn and pumpkins and mint. At the end of the garden, was a power pole, used by my mother as a clothes pole.
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my mom and I in the garden … the clothes pole is in the far left of the photo, at the end of the garden
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On laundry day, my mother hung the wet clothing on a line stretching between the house and the pole. As she hung the laundry, I would play at the end of the garden, under my mother’s watchful eye.
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But I was not where she supposed me to be. Instead, I was off on some imaginary adventure. One place I would go — into the cave beneath the rocks around the base of the clothes pole. In my imagination, the cave led to a tunnel, running under the garden and weaving between roots of pumpkin and mint. I don’t remember what I ‘saw’ in the world I entered or any of the adventures I must have had. Imagination can take you anywhere!
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laundry day
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mint splashes, fresh
against the wall
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her mother pins
clothes to the line
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shirts dance towards
pole at the end
of the garden,
a pole covered
in pumpkin vine
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where a small girl
skips, turns her chin
towards blue sky
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where rainbow begins
and ends,
on the green hill,
entry to cave,
hidden from sun
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and the girl skips
slower, slower
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follows tunnel
under garden
between tendrils
of ripe pumpkin
and root of mint
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and above earth,
her mother pins
clothes to the line
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All my best,
Jane
a moment of beautiful – a swing in the orchard
the space: in the shade of a tree
the beautiful: an old wooden swing
The sight of a swing hanging from the solid limb of an old tree recalls happy hours of swinging when I was a child.
On my grandfather’s farm, the swing was a swing-chair, and I spent hours pushing the old swing to its limits (see ‘in the apple orchard’ the post for August 9, 2011, under the category ‘my grandfather’s farm’). At home in Ralston, Alberta, the community playground had an adult-sized swing set, strong enough to withstand our approach of ‘stand on the seat and pump’. And, when my son was little, we had an old-fashioned board and rope swing – it was a little off-kilter and seemed to go side-to-side rather than forward-and-backward but I remember he and I had lots of fun.
My own childhood story about board and rope swings is bitter-sweet. My Dad built me a swing and hung it from the rafters in the basement of our house in Medicine Hat. I loved it, but … one day I let go of the ropes and fell backwards, hitting my head on the concrete floor. I can still remember the intense pain and the big black star that dominated my vision for a moment. People who know me will say this explains a lot.
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swing sway
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the old swing
hangs frayed from a limb
of the apple tree
sways
hips as she waits
for the downtown bus
rocking learned
in baby years
when rhythm brought peace
and a quiet evening
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© Jane Tims 2012
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