My place

Of all of the places, in all of the world, I would like to take you to a field. It is a place that completes me. As a child I ran and grew with the wild milk weed at my side. Heated by the sun, and warm with love, this breathless landscape was sown together with morning glories – black eyed Suzie’s and Queen Ann’s lace. Untouched and virgin to the world’s commercialization, it remains flawlessly raw.

The pungently beautiful smells of wild strawberries, blackberries and raspberries would tickle at my belly. The sounds of the poplar trees flirting in the wind, would make me feel safe. Everything was always OK as long as their leaves sang gently into my ears. Over the whispers of life around me I could hear the buzz of locus and the soft “Oo-wah-hooo, hoo-hoo” of the mourning doves in search for love.

Depending on the flowers that were in bloom, I knew if the summer was slipping from my fingers and falling asleep in the autumn breeze. When the mustard plants grew tall and milk weed bloomed like little corn husks, the fire flies would disperse, and I would begin to sadden. Then at that moment, more than ever, I would urn for the smell of apple blossoms and lilacs. Returning my thoughts of spring. They encircle this perfect spot like a picture frame, holding my memories for eternity. These amazing trees strong and tall, bared the fruits that filled my creativity.

The joys of chasing chipmunks and saving baby birds that were too young to fly, was coming to an end. Frozen baggies of flavorful berries gathered throughout the summer would be canned in Mason Jars and sealed with love preserving that summers odysseys. Jams and jellies filled the countertops and were handed out graciously to grateful friends and neighbors. Later the empty jars would be returned hoping to be replenished.

Baskets of heaping apples were separated into groups for cider, pies and eating. Pulling giant turnips and harvesting the years’ garden was a main event that everyone partook in. I would pluck the yellow beans with the excitement bursting through my smile. Eating every other one. Sweet and crisp still wet with dew each bite would bait me for more. The gifts from this place tasted pure and set a standard of perfection incomparable to any others.

The silken sent of grapes draping over their designated trellises became almost overwhelming. It was as if they were commanding to be stripped of their baggage and left to relax in the cool autumn air. Wines, and juices barely did justice in comparison to the delightful smells that the grapes shared with our noses.

It is amazing how a square of weeds can raise a child up to respect life and to love unconditionally. Such a cherished place shall never go to waste. It will never be taken for granted. I now as an adult, with my family, live here. I built my dream where it all began. I am spoiled with a view that could melt the hearts of many. I will now and forever grow with the ever changing seasons. My family and I will blossom with the spring and sleep with the fall, making jam with its berries and pies with its apples. We will consume its resources and replenish them with the utmost gratitude. We will feed our hearts and souls until one day, at God’s call, we return to its rich soil. Honored to have been given the opportunity to experience its tranquil setting and humbled to become a part of it. I live everyday in awe.

Ivory Fishgold is a Sinclairville resident. Send comments to