Of all of the places I have lived, my fondest memories are of growing up on our small family farm in Crystal Falls, Michigan. That is in the beautiful upper peninsula and people from that area are often called youpers.
I was eleven years old when we moved there from Ironwood, Michigan and I remember how excited dad was to finally have a place of his own in the country. Mom grew up in the country so she was not quite as thrilled. My brothers and I loved the open space and fresh air. It was heaven.
I used to love to go barefoot up into the backwoods on a well trodden path, in search of the cows, to bring them home for milking time. Along the way, I would gather wild violets, may flowers and corn lilies to bring home to my mother. Flowers grew abundantly along the way in the rich black soil of the pasture. There were alot of birch and poplar among the pines and other trees. It was a shady haven for birds and wildlife.
There was a little creek along the way, Dunn Creek, that trickled over rocks and I would love to dangle my feet in the water as I sat on the small wooded bridge that crossed it. Sometimes dad would catch trout there for our supper bringing them home in a small straw basket on his shoulder.
Some of the cows had a bell on so we always listened to the direction it came from, because the woods was very large leading in all directions. Once we found them, there was always a leader who led the herd home with us trailing behind. I mention we now, because sometime my brother Fred and I would go together for the cows, but seeing these are my memories I will go back to myself.
Other tresured memories include going wild berry picking with mom, in those woods, We would be excited when we found a big patch of raspberries or strawberries and eagerly fill the molasses pail we had tied around our waist. Fred hated to pick berries and often put leaves on the bottom of his pail and top it with berries. Mom would laugh. Blueberry and blackberry picking were fun too, but that is another story.
On hot days, after working hard in the hayfield, mom would say " let's go swimming" so we would hop into dads chevrolet and go to Stager Lake which was a sandy shallow lake that we loved. It was a wonderful way to cool off and wash up because we always took along a bar of soap and washcloth, as mom instructed.
Then for entertainment, at the end of the week, usually Friday night, mom would say" let's go for a ride to town". We would park on main street and have a bottle of orange crush, in the brown bottle, and maybe a candy bar, while dad went into the tavern for a beer. We enjoyed watching people, my brothers and I giggling together in the back seat. Soon we headed home. Cheap entertainment but shared together it strengthened family ties.
The smell of new mown hay in the evening, the sound of a million frogs singing in the pond, fields of daisies for me to gather for my mom and so many other simple things are a part of the fabric that make me the person that I am. I treasure my memories even more as time passes because that is all that is left.
Like plants that are nurtured with tender loving care and thrive, so too are children . We are a product of our childhood. I hope each of you have wonderful memories to brighten your days and remind you who you are.
