This week's writing assignment over at "A thousand words...and then some..." is based on the word "simplicity." I found it at Daily Pleasures.
I'll start with a variation on Amy's answer:
Poached eggs cooked by my Nana both at her work and at home, I was allowed to go to work with her. Homemade tomato sauce and bakery bread.
Walks down to the creek, not that I had to walk that far, and there was more than one, one we visited when Dad was working with his brother on the farm.
Gathering hazelnuts from under my uncle's tree. I was a grown up by this stage, and just remember how they lay on the lawn, I didn't really gather them, but admire them.
Dehusking cape gooseberries in Mum's vege patch.
Swimming in the river.
Going through the bush while we were supposed to be in the school yard. We came in from the school pine plantation. We made booby traps until the teachers found out. The logs were wet and decaying.
Looking at tadpoles in the tabledrains?
Building a fire in the bush in winter to BBQ with my step-sons and my toddler.
Reading Little House, though I don't actually remember reading as a child, only a teenager.
My teenage friend's parents open fire.
My Mum's friend's three daughters and the way they cooked their toast in the early days before they renovated their house.
My Grandma baking square scones on her little table she baked on.
Playing soccer out on the road edge outside our house with some kids from down the road.
The special pinecone trees at school and the games we played under them.
Walking nextdoor to visit Grandma.
Coming home and going through the sprinkler.
Mum's lino cleaning machine.
My Mum's friend's dress up box and its contents for her daughters.
The crickets in our second married home, and the special frogs that live in the bromelliads.
The sound of trains in our hometown.
My mother's phrases for waking me up or wishing me Happy Birthday.
These days the cold at night reminds me of being only 20 and spotlighting with my husband.
Amy says of hers: These are my childhood memories and these are the kind of memories I want for my children. Simple times of love and laughter, work and friendship, peace and security...
I had plenty of time to work through this with three step-children and five children of my own. I am now finding that I need to ask this question of myself about my seven year old daughter and my twelve year old daughter. I haven't been able to answer it yet. However, our new house is providing them with some nice experiences. Not sure if I have mentioned this, but I was very happy with my fifteen year old daughter when driving there mentioned a hill and that she was amazed someone actually owned it. I think it was pretty big, it was on the NSW side, you can imagine. I like how they can observe things out of the car now. I do that. I am thinking now perhaps that came from the three years I travelled the distance on the bus, similar distance to their trip to the other house. Maybe it was also travelling with Mum and Nana in the car to my uncle's and to town, again the same distance. We went to town on Friday's and went to the cafe and had toasted cheese and ham sandwiches.
My childhood memories are getting dimmer I think. Not sure. My Dad died last May, maybe that has something to do with it, or that I live away from that area now and don't visit often as it is a fair way and we have our son to visit as well, and the two houses to maintain. I have written a little about this subject before, ie childhood memories here.
Some more thoughts:
riding my horse, helping Dad break in our foal, riding with Dad through our 1,000 acres of bush in the rain, finding clay in the bush dam and being excited I could actually make something with it, finding a wasps nest on the bush hut's verandah, the simplicity of the table and things inside, the bed ends used as farm gates and things around the old dairy on our farm, the bulbs that came up around the house that was still there, the simple kitchen and window that belonged to that house, the creek below with the anxle of an old truck or car, the tiny stones in the creek, different to the stones in our own creek a mile away,
our other farm, or part of the overall farm, with the small creek that came down to the road at the front, and going through it one day on a horse, of the animals that came through the fence, native animals. The nearby old tip. The old guys house along the road, was it even on his own land? The sheep tracks that go here and there. The old quince tree. Cutting wood with Dad and his brother up the back of that paddock.
I worked out I am an outside person stuck inside. I realise that when I stop the car in the warmer months to check out some roadside apples and walk along in the grass. My paragraphs also attest to the fact that it is good that at age 40 I came to live in The Man From Snowy River country amongst the bush legends and the horses and bush. Last night my husband and I had an arm wrestle. I win. He said I was born with strong shoulders. Shoulders of a farmer's daughter perhaps? I am also glad we still have wood for our fire, since living here of course, so I can smell it when I go to the car.