08 Feb Green, Green Grass of Home
I remember the green, green grass of home. When I was 12 my parents moved into a beautiful house on the side of a hill in San Jose, CA. The neighborhood was free range and I remember running until our hearts would burst. Over the fence and in back of our neighbors house was a church, which had at one time been an apricot orchard. Rising in back of this land was a rather steep hill which also included a number of apricot trees from the orchard: However, there was one avenue between which served as our giant slide. Being fearless kids, all we needed was a cardboard box. If the box was not handy, then we’d simply roll until the world was topsy turvy. I can’t ever remember anyone in the neighborhood being afraid for their children or worrying about where they were until, as the sunset, our mothers would call and we’d come running. We’d do our homework as soon as we walked in the door as the wonders of outdoor living was calling. In those days we traveled in a troup which ebbed and flowed with the amount of homework we were assigned as everyone under 15 within an eight block radius, considered themselves a part of the crew.
The grass in CA is especially lovely with long silky fronds and so thick you could not put your hand through to the soil below. The green, green grass of home was luxurious and waxy with the strips of our trip trails. Consequently, when I paint grass, I still laugh out loud thinking about my friends laying at the bottom with green smudges all over their clothes and faces. It was a time of great blessing. I bring you some of my green, green grass and the blessings I have received through my childhood.