As published in audio on Litro Lab Podcasts

When we were kids, my brother and I waited for the sun to set, for the light to fade, so the little bright creatures could be seen. Our back yard was filled with lightning bugs around the big old tree. I dreamed of making a treehouse in it and climbed as high as I could until it’s branches were too close together. That yard, the trees and the river around our home held all the magic in my life.  I often hid behind the bushes or under the droopy trees to pretend I was a knight, or a princess, or a sorceress. I made traps for leprechauns on St. Patrick’s day and sang a song my grandmother taught me to entice them. “Follow ma lee, Follow ma lee, Follow ma lee alluge la.” I steeled myself against many-a-dares on the banks of streams and muddy lakes. “I dare you to swim to that island!” “I dare you to grab that crab!” “I dare you to jump off that rickety bridge into the river!” Seems children trade status in dares and nature was more than willing to offer the obstacle to overcome. We loved nature without even knowing it and grew up with it beckoning. We knew all the paths to the river and where it led and all the places too muddy to pass. Our back yard led to the river if you went deep enough into the woods. At the end of our street you could launch a raft and float all the way to the ice cream store in town. If you were brave enough.