My Adventure Field

*** I haven't used this blog in about 4 years, but I thought it would be a good place to start putting what I write for FlyWheel Writing Society***

It was as if that field was put on this Earth just for me. Twenty acres of wide-open space with a few large pecan trees spread out systematically in rows throughout. There were areas of flowers, tall grass, and clover patches in my field. I can still smell it all, mostly the heavy Louisiana pollen, but my field seemed to carry the smell of nature. Trees, flowers, tall grass, right there in town and just for me. Okay, so maybe that field was only two or three acres, but to a young boy and his dog, it was a world all our own. There should have been five or six houses there, in Alexandria Louisiana, right next to the home I grew up in. The trees were spread out systematically because our neighborhood sat on an old pecan tree farm. As a boy, there was nothing I knew of more grand and strong than a pecan tree. There was also nothing more bitter and dry than the taste of her pecans, yet I ate them daily in season none the less. The pecans would pile up around the base of the tree in late spring every year. I always harvested them, and mom let me sell them to families in the neighborhood. My field gave me thousands of pecans every year, and put some money in a young boy’s pocket. Some of the trees had able branches low enough that I could climb them. One tree in particular, on the far west end, I could climb high enough to get a good view of my field. It was my kingdom, my piece of the world that I owned. Certainly not legally, I think it was abandoned, regardless it was all mine. In the northwest corner of the field there was a row of shrubs around ten feet tall It is more likely the shrubs were around three feet tall, but that is simply not how I remember them. Looking back they were quite random and out of place, but as a boy that row of shrubs provided another place of adventure. Quite often, those shrubs were a great dividing wall separating forces for good from forces for evil. Cops, soldiers, and cowboys took refuge behind that strong wall before many great battles. Other times, those shrubs provided a barrier that I charged myself to quite literally break through. I’m not sure who took the worse beating on those days, the branches I broke off or my bloody, scratched legs and stomach. None the less, the small price of slightly broken skin was a reminder that I conquered the great barrier in my field. On more calm days, I would set out for a different kind of challenge in the south side of the field. In a sea of millions of clovers, treasures were hidden. Right there in my field, if a boy looked long and hard enough he could find a treasure which my mom assured me was worth more than gold. Four leaf clovers were likely outnumbered ten thousand to one by those mundane, ordinary three leaf clovers. And while some part of me knew they were not as valuable as my mom suggested, each discovery brought such a rich sense of accomplishment that she seemed to be right anyway. Then there was Jake. One hundred pounds of a slobbering, licking, out of shape adventure partner. That field also belonged to Jake. It was place for him where no fences and leashes existed, and he was free to roam as he pleased while we adventured. However, he rarely roamed, in stead choosing to do what any great adventure partner would do, stay with me step for step, adventure after adventure. Jake and that field are seared together in my memory. His legs hidden in high grass, he seemed to float across the surface of my field looking for adventure of his own. He would (unsuccessfully) chase squirrels that called the great pecan trees home. He must have thought patrolling the field was part of his job description. He took that seriously, often stopping to mark our territory along the way. He had a great back yard at our home (I suppose so did I), but that field was the place that he came alive and filled his need to be free outside in creation. In hindsight, I see that was likely true for us both. Jake completed the potential the field offered. Without him, to whom would I have offered advice, directions, and war strategies? Who would have broken through the ten foot wall of shrubs with me? My field, Jake, and I needed each other, all three parts vital to the memories that shape my childhood. My parents have moved to a different state now, and I have not seen my field in years. I am not sure I want to either. I do not want to know how tall the shrubs are, or that my kingdom view perch might only be five feet off the ground. I might be disappointed by finding out there were an abundance of four leaf clovers and I was terrible at searching for them. I choose to remember my field just the way I see it now when I close my eyes, the way a young boy seeking adventure found it day after day all those years ago.