A Morning Straight Out of Childhood

Published on 4/28/95 NAS Lemoore Golden Eagle

I'd like to share this morning with you; it's a morning made to be shared. I walked out into my backyard to finish digging a garden. Lacking a rototiller and being too cheap to rent one, I decided to dig out the sod by hand. A "man and the earth" kind of thing.

With shovel in hand I attacked the task with vim and vigor, a zest for gardening which waned about one-third of the way through the task. No longer a "man and the earth" kind of thing, it was rapidly becoming a tedious "man versus grass" thing. About half-way done I left the task for the evening to perform a more pressing duty. After all, tomorrow is another day.

This morning I awoke before the sun, without an alarm which is unusual for me. I felt refreshed and renewed. A couple hours after sunup, full of coffee and determination, I resumed the battle. And made another two feet of progress before being ambushed.

It wasn't by bugs or kids, or other garden pests. It wasn't even the elusive gopher I have engaged in a "turf war" this spring. It was by a warm early morning sun and the song of morning birds. Back and forth between the three trees in my yard they sang and called to one another. Another bird, off in the distance sang "Aahh-woo-woo-woo..." repeatedly. The morning chorus was punctuated by the occasional crowing of a rooster, proclaiming it to be morning and time for all good hens to be up and scratching.

Not thinking, I quit gardening and let the sun gently push me back until I was laying on the very sod I had planned to remove. It wasn't hot, not yet, but the sun shone with a gentle authority that promised heat later in the day. I can't say I was getting drowsy, but I was as relaxed I have been in months. A small plane droned overhead, and I had this overwhelming urge to get my trucks and play in the dirt.

Not a monster 4x4 or even an old beat-up farm truck, but an honest to goodness Tonka--best truck ever made. I wanted to dig pits and build roads. I wanted to make truck sounds, to see the tracks in the dirt as mighty Tonka carved out a highway to bring a miniature civilization to my little garden, my little world.

It was a morning straight out of my childhood, when everyday was brand new, when I wasn't concerned with a career, rent payments or high cholesterol. The only overdue notice in my life was a note from the local librarian reminding me I had had my Tom Swift or Hardy Boys books long enough to have read them twice. My future was no further than the creek down the country road I lived on, and how many crayfish I could catch without getting pinched.

I got a little of that back this morning, and lacking trucks I got a bottle of bubbles out of the garage. I sat in my half finished garden blowing bubble and watching them float on the still morning air. Being a grown-up I lit a cigarette and blew some smoke filled bubbles. Being a kid, I made bomb and explosion noises as each popped on the grass in a little puff of smoke.

It was a morning I didn't want to end; I'd regained something, at least momentarily, I thought was lost forever. The little guy in me who likes bubbles and dandy-lions and hasn't a worry in the world.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have bubbles to blow. Maybe later I can take my little nephew and buy a couple Tonka trucks. He likes to share...

« Back