Childhood Field of Dreams

If we're lucky we have a place rooted in our childhood that was a most magical place-a place stirred not by computers or plastic devices-but rather by imaginations set free to explore and pretend; wonder and soar. I've gone on and on about my 'field of dreams.' I've written about my grandfather's barn, the chicken coop clubhouse, the granary, water pipes strung on poles from the pumphouse to the barn, the farmhouse, the pastures and fields. I've told you about our rafts made from telephone poles; how there was one for the boys and one for the girls and how we'd forge our way around the creek on those rafts from one port to another on grand adventures.While this was my field of dreams, any place that ignites wonder and imagination when growing up is a field of dreams.

This past week I went back there-back to that straight away on that country road where the barn, granary, chicken coop, and farmhouse sat. I wanted to take a picture to show you all that is visibly left of my childhood Disney World-my very own 'field of dreams.' And there it is-the barn's silo. While the farmhouse is still there (not shown)-it's no longer owned by the family and no longer looks at it did back then. The screened-in veranda is gone; along with most all of the poplar trees that lined the cinder driveway.

But all of that is fine. I am well aware things change, but I am also well aware that if we grow up inspired and our imaginations are stirred to wonder and pretend then no matter how things change as we grow up, we still have all of that marvelous stuff-that wonder and that pretending and that igniting of imaginations-in our hearts. We can go there anytime. We can tap back into feelings-hopes and dreams-pure joy and wonder. We need all of that sometimes as adults-sometimes as we get bogged down by life and the wonder fades and dreams are put back in the cupboard.

As I look at that silo, I see me playing with my cousins and I see families gathering and families growing and changing. While that silo is passed by every day, most likely considered yet another remnant left in a field of another time-I see it as a testimony to two people who fell in love, worked the fields, raised a family, tended the gardens, tilled the soil; grew old together and left their mark on those of us who follow. A silo is just a silo-until it's wrapped up in childhood memories.