Those were the days, when summer stretched before us like a lounging jungle cat. Lazy, languid, full of promise. When the mulberry trees were heavy with fruit and our lips and fingers were forever stained purple. We gorged ourselves until our tummies ached and our bodies sang with fructose.

As the sun beat down on our little brown bodies, we would gallop down the hill, our legs whirring a little faster than was comfortable - through the gate and with a SPLASH, launch ourselves into the murky waters of the dam.

Games of chase and tag, the odd attempt to half-drown a sibling, swimming like sleek little otters. Our hands were clever then, when we'd build complicated mud bathing systems on the clay-mud banks - small pools to heat the water, and a large pool to bathe in.

Later, we'd catch our horses, put their bridles on, take some snacks and ride up into the hills. Winding through the trees, searching for adventure. We'd hide from bandits, we swear we'd heard sneaking - and then canter wildly up the hill to escape their clutches.

Little engineers we were. Always making, creating, building. Like the cubby across the creek, where we felled slender trees with our little hatchet and constructed a yard for our horses using saplings and bailing twine. Then we made a log cabin, small, sturdy, with no roof. And as soon as it was made, we abandoned it, to play by the pear tree - throwing the fruit at each other and yowling when contact was made.

Mum would inspect our bruises and tut, as the sun sank from the sky - and the mosquitoes hummed to life. Then feed us around the battered dining table and gather us on the couch, hugging us close as she read a story and did all the voices.

Some days, a friend would join and we'd take them rowing on the dam, to show them the duck nests and the secret stack of rocks we'd balanced there. Sometimes we'd play by the house - in the shade of the verandah, complex games involving paying tolls with leaves and racing around on our scooters and bikes.

Other times we'd collect banksias and trade them for a particularly fine stick or smooth pebble.

One day faded into the next - as the sun burnt down and the grass turned crisp and brown. Summer, it was the best of times.

I have reached the point where I can sit down. After spending the last four hours working in the back yard and garden, there’s nothing left to complete. The brick walkway is once again weed-free. After amending the soil, the potatoes and onions are planted. Netting is put up. Seeds for beets, broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, peas, peppers, radishes and spinach are nestled in their respective beds or pots. The windchime, rain gauge, garden flags and cast-iron pig (“This little piggie went to the garden.”) have been returned to their rightful spots. The bird feeders and water bowl/birdbath are full. Everything has been crossed off Spring’s To Do List. Quite a productive afternoon. But this wasn’t always the case.

Taking inventory of the work completed, I reflect on the original condition of the fenced-in yard when I bought my foreclosed home nine years ago. The exterior was in rough shape but still better off than the interior of the 106-year-old house. The fence needed repairs. There was no electricity to the deteriorating shed. Railroad ties appeared to be solid but were rotted out underneath. Bamboo had gained a firm foothold among the tree stumps and knee-high weeds. Large rocks were strewn about. At varying intervals, bricks peaked from beneath the overgrown sod. And the enclosed patio was not structurally sound.

Each of the first eight years, when the weather in Virginia warmed, I’d postpone my inside repairs and tackle the most pressing landscaping issues. I’d focus on a major job while utilizing any area not needing attention for planting vegetables. Underbrush, weeds, stumps, railroad ties and seemingly endless bamboo roots were cleared. Now I have more sun exposure. The entirety of a brick walkway was exposed and realigned while the rocks were organized. Now the garden feels more inviting. New roof, siding and electrical wiring for the shed. Now I have a functional workshop. The patio was demolished and replaced with proper steps flanked by permanent storage compartments. Now I have convenient access to the yard. Blueberry and raspberry bushes were planted. Two raised beds for strawberries were set up. Compost bins were started. Rain barrels were added. Now the garden is self-sustaining. These tasks dominated my summers. I looked forward to the day when all the work needed would be finished.

And that day is now. I can prep my garden in just a few hours, leaving the rest of the season to focus on planting and harvesting. The birds, squirrels and lone chipmunk get fresh water and food on a regular basis. Within six to eight weeks, I’ll have a steady supply of vegetables and berries well into September. So, sitting on the backsteps, surveying my private slice of Heaven, I know all the hard work completed the previous years has made everything right in the world now. This is a perfect day.

My mind takes me back...

Back to a warm but not too hot day, with gentle breezes blowing the switchgrasses just enough to make a hushed "shwish" as they blew over.

Redwing blackbirds singing sweetly as they sway with the grasses.

Im laying in the bed of my beat up old farm truck while spending time out in the pasture with my favorite people in the entire universe, my best friends, my confidants, my compadres. My horses.

As I'm layin here, i can hear them near snorting, stomping the flies, and swishing tails. I already spent the better part of the morning brushing and combing out loose hair, deshedding and scratching all the hard to reach spots. Lookin up at the sky, fluffy puffy white cumulus clouds are everywhere. A pair of turkey buzzards are circling in the distance probably a roadkill.

The grass smells sweet on the breeze and if I had to chose a day to die, this would be it because this would be my heaven.

Skies dazzle with purples and pinks

as the once-bright orange disc

and each ray

sink, etching my world with wonder

and my mind with vivid mem’ries

of this day.

By any kid’s measure of fun,

my day had reached the pinnacle

of perfection.

Playing with pals, finding two bucks,

extra innings, and no need for

a correction.

But when I see the apple tree,

in Mister J’s yard, I realize:

Day is not done.

So, I sneak into the yard to pluck

the forbidden fruit, when I hear:

“Hold it, son!”

Mister J grabs and squeezes my arm

with his hand, and yells for my folks

to get me.

While I wait for my punishment

I know my day went from marquee

to crappy.

I was a day or two old at the time.

Well I think i was.

But what do I know?

I remember looking up into those blue eyes.

Or were they green?

I was a day or two old at the time.

What do I know?

I remember being held ever so gently,and then dropped to the floor.

I guess that's where my memory went awry.

I'm joking,I think it was after I hit the floor and bounced and hit the ceiling.

I remember hanging onto the ceiling fan.

Boy was that fun!

It was a really hot day,that thing was moving fast.

I remember men in helmets and some kind of trampoline.

They were yelling jump!

But I'm only a day or two old,what do I know about the word jump.

Luckily my i pad was connected to my harness.

So I googled jump.

Not sure what it said.

Remember I'm only about a day or two old.

What do I know.

Finally,I remember not so gentle hands,and those bluish green eyes staring at me.

Holding me so close.

And i remember the words.

Don't you ever do that again!

I think they got my message.