Memories in a Field

 I remember throwing the old jump rope over the top of the hay bail, the sun beat down on my freckled arms and blond head. With all of my ten-year-old might, I hoisted myself up onto the hay bail and tied the jump rope to the tight bailing rope. I slid down, feeling the drying hay prick my knees.

I stepped back as my younger sisters picked up the long hems of their play-dresses, their worn tennis shoes digging into the small slit we dug in the bail, grunting all the while they tried to get up. Once on the hay bail, I joined them and took hold of the old jump rope. I clicked my tongue and dug my heels into the hay. Away we galloped through the field, across the next-door farmer's dusty old lane, and over the ocean, to our make-believe land. We were orphans running for our freedom.

Man, time does fly by, doesn't it? Hard to believe I used to run around in my mom's old dresses, pretending I was a rich, spoiled brat who ended up becoming homeless, or the world's best horse rider... on a hay bail or fence post. Ha, I love thinking back to those days; I'm so thankful I grew up the way I did.

Seeing these hay bails took me back to those years of my childhood, and I almost shed a tear.

Almost.