The first of a series of posts on change . . .

I love that I grew up a country girl. The wide-open spaces of the outdoors still exhilarate me. About once a year I go home to eastern Pennsylvania where my entire family still lives. A walk along the country road, passing the farm and neighboring farmlands, immediately transports me back to my childhood.

There’s the big hill where I wiped out on my bike because I didn’t think I was going to stop before I reached the highway that rolls past our farm. Maybe the brakes didn’t work. I just remember intentionally falling off my bike while in motion. What was I thinking!?

Heading towards the bridge where we would catch the bus, I pass the field that made a perfect sledding run. On a cold winter evening my brothers and I decided to sled by the light of the moon. Positioning myself belly down on my wooden sled sent me flying down the hill only to find that the runway we had made earlier in the day had turned to ice in the night air. That frozen snow sent me right through the barbed wire fence at the end of the field. I came home from the doctor’s office with 51 stitches in my face. Not the cosmetic makeover a 7th grade girl was looking for.

The bus stop by the bridge . . . well, Mom would stand at the living room window to watch for the bus at the neighboring farm and call out loud and clear, “Bus!” and we would take off out the door, through the front yard, out the gate, running the quarter mile to the bridge with book bags over our shoulder, breathless as we stepped up on the bus. How many times did that bus driver have to wait on us I’ll never know?

Then there’s the cornfield along the way to the bus stop where I wanted to run and hide on a school day because I didn’t like my 5th grade teacher (she didn’t like me, which was the problem). Never had the guts to do it.

There’s the barn where I fed veal calves for 4-H and the pasture on the other side of the road where I would stand with pitch fork in hand when it was time to help put the cattle out to pasture. I never enjoyed this job – I was deathly afraid that one of those steers would come running towards me with head down ready to buck me to my death. A watering trough where fresh spring water flows proved a great spot for a summer lemonade stand for the very occasional passersby.

A few years ago I went beyond the road following the creek to a spot that I fondly remember. I recall spring days when wild daffodils popped up in bouquets along the little stream that flowed into the creek. I’d find a rock to sit on and do my childhood daydreaming. But, now I could barely find, much less hear, the gurgling brook. Brush and brier had taken over this little piece of country paradise. It wasn’t the same anymore. Forty years of time had changed the scenery. I had envisioned it in my mind as it used to be, but the reality of change was obvious.

Change happens and there’s no getting around it. Sometimes change takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a subtle change, gradually making its mark over time. The closer I got (not get) to 50, change seemed to shift to overdrive. I knew it was coming, but why did it take me by surprise? The family dynamics began to change. Kids started leaving home. The house got quieter. Kids were getting married. Now we have a grand-baby. It's all settling in now, but there for awhile I needed time to catch up. Beyond that, my body is changing. That dimpling thing on the upper legs started. Extra fat cells begin to accumulate for no apparent reason around the waist, butt and hips. Gray, course hair that has a mind of its own makes its appearance. Change. It's inevitable!

Change . . . the need to adjust, adapt, amend, in order to refashion, redesign, revamp . . . in others words, sometimes life needs tweaking.