I’d like to go back…

Serina Lewis-Galla | Monica Johnson

I’d like to go back to the farm that I began my life on. Back to the beautiful mixture in the air of the barn animals, the hay, and the random wild flowers in the fields. Back to the sound of the tractors mowing away in the distance, and the clanking of the riser as it lifts the bales of hay. I’d like to hear the sound of the cows moaning in the busy of the barn, the barn that my grandfather built with his own two callused hands. I close my eyes and recall the adventures we took into the woods to collect as many green crab apples as we could carry to throw into the pond, just to see who could throw the furthest, or make the biggest splash.

I’d like to go back to the road trips on Friday nights, traveling down the highway listening to the music louder than mom would ever allow us to if she were here. I wish to relive the heart to heart sisterly talks we shared on those trips to Alexandria Bay. The highway just continued on and on forever, just as I thought our relationship would, a never ending road with endless possibilities. Tragedy struck our lives and although I know you’re not physically on my road trip with me, you will always be here in spirit.

I’d like to go back to the tree fort just on the edge of the woods, the birds chirping, the stream rustling over the stones. I’d like to spend another hot and humid summer’s afternoon eating peanut butter and homemade strawberry jelly sandwiches that were on torn bread because we made them ourselves. What I wouldn’t give to be sitting up in our fort, planning out our next great adventure that always involved us returning home wet and covered in dirt which mom always complained about.