Revisiting My Childhood Backyard
The backyard clotheslines were always full
sheets one day, towels another, then clothes
of all varieties. Sun bleached things, wind
gave them a fresh smell. I inhaled sheets
with eyes closed, fresh as rain, wind, clouds.
And I still see my mother talking to the neighbor,
clothespins in hand, also was hanging clothes
My mouth still waters for the Dad's hamburgers,
grilled on the large Weber grill, eaten at
the white wooden picnic table with chips,
or corn on the cob dripping with butter.
The picnic table also served as a rocket ship
or hospital for neighborhood kids at play
other times or other days.
Dad pitched baseballs in the backyard
under the elm tree, which gave us shade.
The summers were hot , sun beat down;
we didn't worry about sunscreen those days.
Mother watered flowers, tended vegetables;
nothing like a ripened tomato off the vine
or dirt-crusted carrots pulled from the earth.
Fourth of July we snuggled, covered with blankets,
on the cushions of metal glider in the backyard,
watched the fireworks set off from City Park
on the other side of the river. It was always cold
this mid summer holiday. We oohed
and aahed at the bursts and the flashes,
and it was hard to see the celebration end.
Sometimes we set up a tent in the backyard
to play camping or war or just to have a secret spot
where we could laugh, gossip, and tell stories;
and occasionally we acquired a large refrigerator box
and we would roll and roll and roll in it just for fun.
Sometimes we attached the sprinkler, ran through it
in bathing suits to cool off on hot summer days.
If I close my eyes tightly, I am back there in my backyard
playing badminton, marbles, reading beneath the elm,
soaking up summer as if there was to be no tomorrow,
and of course the summers of childhood came to an end,
and I grew up, moved away, my parents passed away,
house was sold, and nothing will ever be the same;
but the house still stands and the memories still remain.
Margo Roby in Tuesday Tryouts: a Sense of Place talked about writing about instilling a 'sense of place' in our writing. In doing so, she talked about something called the baseline landscape, She says, "The special bond which develops between children and their childhood environments has been called a ‘primal landscape’ by human geographers. This childhood landscape forms part of people’s identity and constitutes a key point of comparison for considering subsequent places later in life. As people move around as adults, they tend to consider new places in relation to this baseline landscape experienced during childhood." I found this idea totally fascinating and contemplated my own 'primal landscape' as well as did some serious thinking about my grandchildren's primal landscape. My poem wanted to identify / describe part of my childhood primal landscape. An important 'place' to me, while I was growing up, was my backyard. It is as vivid to me now as it was when I was a child. I will share it with you now. If you want to read more of Margo's ideas, please follow the link above. There is so much more. This poem undoubtedly needs some work, but it is a start. And my childhood backyard begged to be written about.
I am linking this to Margo Roby's Site and to Open Link Monday: Imaginary Gardens and Real Toads
