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Tell Me a Story about … Leaves!

/ legaciesletloose / 4 Comments

11-5-18 B.jpgA few questions for you:

·       Have you ever raked leaves?

·       Have you ever jumped in a pile of raked leaves?

·       Have you ever re-raked and re-raked piles of leaves in which others have jumped?

·       Have you ever gathered an armful of leaves and thrown them on a sibling or friend … or parent, if you dared?

·       Have you ever tried to remove bits of crumbled leaves, broken twigs, and dried grasses from your hair after a leaf battle?

·       Have you ever thrown leaves in the air in abandon, watching them freefall in the wind for a second time?

How many “yes” answers did you have? If four or more, you are a true autumn-leaf-play aficionado—which simply means you love to frolic in autumn leaves! You thrill to the sound of your feet crunching over crispy orange oak leaves covering the sidewalks or the sight of red maple leaves flipping across the ground as you kick them over and over. 

Maybe you, as I, have special memories of these things. One of my favorites I participated in, but another I enjoyed the aftermath of the fun. 

The latter came in a photograph, my favorite of all-time, the one which graces my Facebook blog page and my business cards. One year for my birthday, our daughters asked a friend for a photo shoot of the three of them. They chose autumn, my favorite season, and Little Buffalo State Park as the location, a place where we have many fond memories. Some photos showed silly girls with tiny pumpkins on their heads (no names mentioned). Others gave Mama a heart attack when seeing her offspring hanging off beams in a covered bridge. But the one of the girls tossing leaves in the air, joy on their faces, blesses me most. 

Now, the one I took part in! Our one son-in-love grew up in a city and had never raked a pile of leaves. So, as soon as our oak tree dropped most of its yellow-orange leaves, I encouraged him to bring his then four-year-old daughter, Rosemary, for a day of leaf play. 

To keep warm in the late autumn chill, we bundled up in sweaters and headed out. I handed the rake to Rosemary’s dad and said, “Here you go! Rake all these leaves into one huge pile!” 

He looked around at the large area covered by leaves from a giant tree and gave me a look that said, “Do what?!” I smiled and grabbed Rosemary’s hand to show her how to kick the leaves as fast as Daddy raked them. He raked, we kicked, leaves flew! 11-5-18 A.JPG

Finally, I corralled Rosemary by having her lie down so her mama and I could cover her with leaves. While she giggled and wiggled, her daddy finished the pile. Rosemary and I held hands, raced across the now bare grass, and leapt into the leaves, spreading them far and wide. 

Daddy looked a bit bewildered as I handed him the rake he’d put down. Being a good sport, though, he reraked the pile over and over to his daughter’s delight. Her joy rang out as she jumped in pile after pile … with me, with her mama, and, giving him a break from raking, with her daddy. 

What a fun memory! I just know God has a big old leaf-pile up there in heaven waiting for those of His children who love the feeling of flying through the air to land in a mountain of orange, red, and gold. And you know what? I think Jesus will be jumping in right beside us!

*** Do you just love jumping in autumn leaves? Share a story with us! Click on the words beside the date of this post. Scroll down to the box with the heading, “Leave a reply.” Thank you for sharing! 

*** If you leave a comment, check back for my reply to it. I always respond to comments!

Tell Me a Story about … a Lane!

/ legaciesletloose / 2 Comments

Let’s take a stroll down memory lane … or at least down the memories of a certain lane, the one leading from the main road to the cabin we call camp.

Dirt or grassy lanes draw me, entice me to follow them. Deer trails, hiking paths, even lawn mower tracks say, “Come see where I go!” But I know exactly where the lane to the cabin goes—my heaven on earth.

No matter how old I get, the thrill of watching as we round the 8-20-18 Bbends in the road from Galeton, PA, toward camp never lessens. I inch forward on the seat, straining against the seatbelt, picturing the final turn. There it is! The farm where the owner lives and the barn where he used to milk his cows in days gone by. (I would watch the owner’s kids bring the cows from the pasture, across the creek, and down the lane to the barn, only to repeat it the next morning in reverse.) The lane, tucked between the two buildings, never changes, except from rutted and dusty in the hottest months to rutted and muddy from recent rain showers.

8-20-18 ARounding the first corner, we come to a one-lane wooden bridge. I close my eyes and bring back the times when, as youths, my brothers or I would get out of the car to unhook and re-hook the chains across the entrance and exit of the bridge, although we could never understand why they needed a chain stretched across both ends of a one-car-length bridge. Today, no chains bar the way, but the ghosts of them clank in my mind as we cross.

I’m now almost bouncing in my seat like a toddler on a jumping horse. Another few yards and I’ll be able to see the cabin! There’s the other camp on the right which never has any vacationers, but where we once saw a bear digging in the rusty burn barrel in plain daylight. My mom had wound her window down to talk to him … until he advanced toward the car. Wow, could she ever wind up a window fast! Good thing it wasn’t one of those slow-moving automatic jobs, right?

“We’re here! We’re here!” Echoes of our joyous cries from childhood mingle with today’s yaps of our dog as he catches onto my excitement, not really understanding it, but knowing it must be something fun. And oh, how right he is. But it’s also so much more—it’s family, it’s home, it’s8-20-18 E (2) heaven—even if it’s only for a week.

We pull up in front of the porch and I push at the car door, wondering why it won’t open, then laughing at myself for not pulling on the handle first. The first gurgling of the creek hits my ears, the first musty scent from the open cabin door fills my nose and my memories, taking me back to the days of my youth, when four scrambling dogs, three wild kids, and two grateful parents poured from the side doors and back hatch of our loaded-down-and-overflowing station wagon.

We’re here! The end of the lane—but not the end of the memories, not when we make new ones each time we drive back this particular memory lane.

*** Where has a lane led you in your life? Tell us about it! Click on the words beside the date of this post. Scroll down to the box with the heading, “Leave a reply.” Thank you for sharing!

*** Next week’s post sports one of my favorite photos our photographer daughter has taken!