My Guess Is Green
Apply Tree Blossoms.
My sister and I usually take a walk up the field behind my grandparents’ house when we visit.
We walk over the first hill, pass the horse ranch on the left, over the second hill where the apple trees line both sides of the field and then back to the lake. We take out time, jumping on to rocks and planks to get closer to the lake without stepping in the muck that is the narrow path to the lake. If I look to the right I’ll see the skeletons of old cars my grandfather drove sunken down in the muck between the mixture of large, pine, maple and birch trees. Once we reach the tall eel grass we can go no further, we stand and watch the lake shine as ducks swim by.
It’s the strangest thing up there, as you walk towards it the sounds of road disappear, voices, machines all evaporate into nothing and it doesn’t seem to hit you until you’re standing in front of the lake. Everything’s gone, no houses line the shore and no motor boats tear their way through the clear waters it’s just empty.
Soon we’ll make our way back giggling as we try not to get our jeans covered in mud. Instead of heading back to the house we’ll take some side paths that lead behind the neighbour’s houses way up in their fields. The trails are the width of a large four wheeler and filled with the memories of our father’s teenage years. The houses we pass with little trails leading to their own fields all used to house friends of my father. This didn’t used to be a trail to them, but a quick getaway if they got in trouble with any type of authority.
The trails go left, right, straight and many choices of paths that all seem to lead to the same place. The paths tend to play tricks on me and remind me more of a maze in Alice in Wonderland. Once we find our way back to the field we’ll both be laughing at how as we tease each other over, who was right about taking which path, who made us more lost and who made us more found.
Once we reach the first hill we sit down. The grass molds to our shape as the sun beats down on us, at first we take in our surroundings. We can see our grandparent's small house and through the trees we can see their two neighbours’ houses and if you sit in the perfect spot you can see way down the road were a side road connects to the main road that is in front of my grandparents’ house.
From here you can hear the church bells clearly and see just the top of the old church way beyond where the side road joins to the main. You can smell the flats on the opposite side of the main road and watch as the tide comes in, we can hear the daycare lady yell as the children run around screaming in her backyard.
You can see amazing splashes of pink flowers as all the apple trees blossoms are blooming along the fields and road. The houses go from, grey, green, blue to hot pink, where an older lady lives, you can see her roof and where the tarp still lays even though the lightning hit her house so many years ago.
I can’t see into my grandparent’s house but I know my grandfather is sitting in the chair under the phone, his tea cup on the table beside him still holding a tea bag. My father sits on the rocker across from my grandfather and looks out the window, a Tim Hortan’s large double double in hand as he watches the traffic go by. My grandmother sits in between the table and the fridge at the opposite end of my grandfather; she’ll be talking about her latest baked good. My mom will be sitting on the chair across from my father with a tea she made when she got there, nodding along but not really listening to my grandmother, as is everyone else, the two men are most likely talking about some form of mechanics or construction.
My sister and I are still at the top of the hill, playing what we always play when we sit there; guess the color of the next car. She always cheats by trying to see up towards the side road.
I never noticed how we do this every year when it becomes nice out. I never really cared to notice the little things that never change. And as we get distracted from the game and she starts to talk about her going to middle school next year I come to realize, I won’t be visiting my grandparents practically every weekend, the routine of picking up Tim Hortons and then visiting will be broken. I won’t get to see the field, the horses and the apples fall from the trees.
I’m graduating in three weeks and then leaving for university. I never imagined these little things would mean so much to me, I find myself noticing things that have always been a constant in my life and appreciating them so much more now.
We walk over the first hill, pass the horse ranch on the left, over the second hill where the apple trees line both sides of the field and then back to the lake. We take out time, jumping on to rocks and planks to get closer to the lake without stepping in the muck that is the narrow path to the lake. If I look to the right I’ll see the skeletons of old cars my grandfather drove sunken down in the muck between the mixture of large, pine, maple and birch trees. Once we reach the tall eel grass we can go no further, we stand and watch the lake shine as ducks swim by.
It’s the strangest thing up there, as you walk towards it the sounds of road disappear, voices, machines all evaporate into nothing and it doesn’t seem to hit you until you’re standing in front of the lake. Everything’s gone, no houses line the shore and no motor boats tear their way through the clear waters it’s just empty.
Soon we’ll make our way back giggling as we try not to get our jeans covered in mud. Instead of heading back to the house we’ll take some side paths that lead behind the neighbour’s houses way up in their fields. The trails are the width of a large four wheeler and filled with the memories of our father’s teenage years. The houses we pass with little trails leading to their own fields all used to house friends of my father. This didn’t used to be a trail to them, but a quick getaway if they got in trouble with any type of authority.
The trails go left, right, straight and many choices of paths that all seem to lead to the same place. The paths tend to play tricks on me and remind me more of a maze in Alice in Wonderland. Once we find our way back to the field we’ll both be laughing at how as we tease each other over, who was right about taking which path, who made us more lost and who made us more found.
Once we reach the first hill we sit down. The grass molds to our shape as the sun beats down on us, at first we take in our surroundings. We can see our grandparent's small house and through the trees we can see their two neighbours’ houses and if you sit in the perfect spot you can see way down the road were a side road connects to the main road that is in front of my grandparents’ house.
From here you can hear the church bells clearly and see just the top of the old church way beyond where the side road joins to the main. You can smell the flats on the opposite side of the main road and watch as the tide comes in, we can hear the daycare lady yell as the children run around screaming in her backyard.
You can see amazing splashes of pink flowers as all the apple trees blossoms are blooming along the fields and road. The houses go from, grey, green, blue to hot pink, where an older lady lives, you can see her roof and where the tarp still lays even though the lightning hit her house so many years ago.
I can’t see into my grandparent’s house but I know my grandfather is sitting in the chair under the phone, his tea cup on the table beside him still holding a tea bag. My father sits on the rocker across from my grandfather and looks out the window, a Tim Hortan’s large double double in hand as he watches the traffic go by. My grandmother sits in between the table and the fridge at the opposite end of my grandfather; she’ll be talking about her latest baked good. My mom will be sitting on the chair across from my father with a tea she made when she got there, nodding along but not really listening to my grandmother, as is everyone else, the two men are most likely talking about some form of mechanics or construction.
My sister and I are still at the top of the hill, playing what we always play when we sit there; guess the color of the next car. She always cheats by trying to see up towards the side road.
I never noticed how we do this every year when it becomes nice out. I never really cared to notice the little things that never change. And as we get distracted from the game and she starts to talk about her going to middle school next year I come to realize, I won’t be visiting my grandparents practically every weekend, the routine of picking up Tim Hortons and then visiting will be broken. I won’t get to see the field, the horses and the apples fall from the trees.
I’m graduating in three weeks and then leaving for university. I never imagined these little things would mean so much to me, I find myself noticing things that have always been a constant in my life and appreciating them so much more now.
♠ ♠ ♠
Photo credit.