The Path

Just beyond the trees that frame my childhood home lies a path. The path is now overgrown and barely visible, brambles and seedlings cover the ground where once there was a trail of hard-packed earth, worn bare by the constant footsteps of children. During my childhood and youth it was the path not only to our beloved neighbours’ house, but also the gateway to adventure.

All one needed in those days was a good imagination to turn this ordinary trail into something much more magical. The path had many tributaries that took us deeper into the woods and my brothers, myself, and the neighbour kids knew them all like the backs of our hands. This world was like a blank canvas in our childhood land of make believe. Many secret forts were fashioned among the branches, and cowboys, pirates and princesses dwelled there.

In summer, we walked this path religiously, foraging into the scratchy bushes in search of wild blueberries. Cups in hand, we would search for the very best patches, with the promise from our mothers of a delicious baked treat if we picked enough. More often than not however, the bounty of our hard work ended up in our bellies, as we returned home with blue-stained fingers and empty dishes.

It was the jumping off point for many rousing games of hide and seek or kick the can with the neighbourhood kids. Plentiful trees and bushes provided an unlimited number of leafy, green hiding places. Our laughter and squeals of delight could only be tempered by the stern calls of our mothers to come in for supper.

It wasn’t only children that traveled this path. Many cups of tea and long, heartfelt chats were exchanged between my mother and her friend who lived in the house next door. I can still see their family dog, as he trotted down the path when I returned home from school to say hello, hoping to be the beneficiary of some leftover treat in my lunchbox.

The path exists only in my memories these days. As the years went by, neighbours moved away, children grew up, and the path was all but forgotten. However, if I close my eyes, I can still feel the sun on my face, feel the earth beneath my toes and hear our laughter in the air as I remember.