A very large tulip poplar tree took up most of the front yard. A homemade rope and board swing hung from it’s lowest branch. I spent countless hours on that thing.
On the south side of the house was a large fenced flower garden. My mother’s pride and joy. She could have made rocks grow probably, she had that knack. She had old fashioned flowers like sweet peas, four-o’clocks, bleeding hearts alongside irises, peonies, tulips, roses, asters, and many more. If you could buy the seed from Henry Fields catalog, she had it. My favorite was the lilac bush. The fragrance remains in my memory yet today.
On the north side of the house were three plum trees. The tart red ones that dripped luscious juice down your arm when you bit into one. Way in the back by the chicken coop and garden was my favorite thing in the whole wide world, black raspberry briars. During the warm summer months, when I awoke and came downstairs I would find a fresh smapling of fruit, picked that very morning. Yellow cherries, probably Rainier, black raspberries, sweet strawberries or fresh plums would be waiting on the table in a small bowl or cup, still warm from the sunshine that had dried the dew off the grass.
Now you see why all my happy memories are tied around food.
While you are savoring the thought of freshly picked fruit, close your eyes and smell the lilacs and listen to robins and bluejays fussing on the branches outside the kitchen window.
