Almost everyone has a specific memory from their childhood that they are especially fond of. For some it may be a vacation to a famous city, a
day spent at an amusement park, or a week camping in the great outdoors. But for me the best of times were spent at my grandparents' home in the bosque, along the Rio Grande. Nana and Papa had a beautiful, lush yard that was the focal point of many family gatherings. As the uncles would push the cousins on the rickety swing-set under the massive cottonwood, the ladies would chat on the back patio. It was a tranquil atmosphere that had a way of making everyone's worries subside. Nana's home was a place where I could be a kid no matter what the season: summer, harvest, or spring.
Summer was a blessed time for recreation, especially as we grew older and learned to appreciate the breaks from school and homework. Our Nana and Papa loved having us over; we brought much sunshine to their lives. With youthful vigor, we would race the tricycles and zip down the sidewalk on rollerblades. But when the sun's beams reached their zenith we grew weary and resorted to a cooler activity. We would entertain ourselves for hours by swimming laps and floating like bloated fish in the “Olympic-sized” pool. Looking back now, it was surely no more than a foot high and ten feet in length, but to a child's imagination the world is limitless. When our attentions began to wane we turned to the sprinklers! Chasing each other through the refreshing mist, we would squeal and giggle until our energy evaporated. Ultimately, we would collapse on the porch in exhaustion, where Nana never failed to provide a pitcher of quenching cranberry juice. Summertime was simply glorious!
Autumn was filled with loads of fun and laughter. Crisp breezes were a welcome change from the heat of summer as they whistled through the dying fields. With the celebration of fall birthdays came cake, ice cream, punch, balloons, and piñatas, basic ingredients for any festive occasion. When harvest time rolled around my family would be out picking apples in the orchard. Even when I was too young to actively participate, I had an important role. From my seat in the giant wicker basket, my job was to oversee the yielded produce. Captivated, I always had a toothless grin on my chubby face and clapped joyfully. As winter approached and the days shortened, we retreated indoors. My cousins and I loved to dress up and play Princess. Adorned with long, flowing dresses, clip-on earrings, and glittering tiaras, we proudly paraded down the palace halls as if we owned the place.
The memories I adore most from my childhood are of Easter. It was the ultimate highlight of every year. Early spring in Peralta was destined to be gorgeous. Nana's immense flower garden was always bursting with every shade and hue imaginable. On that designated Sunday, some mysterious person would randomly scatter plastic eggs about the yard and our goal as little scavengers was to locate all of a particular color. It was a magical adventure as each of us set out on a journey to find the most eggs in the least amount of time. At the next stage, we were given clues leading to a grand prize, which usually consisted of extra chocolates or dollar bills. Finally, once the tasks were completed, we would all gather on an afghan in the midst of the lawn and reveal to one another our treasured prizes. These are the moments I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.
Just as seasons change, my childhood years have come to an end. We're all older now and are beginning to go our separate ways, but we still love to reminisce and will forever cherish the times we shared together at our Bosque house. The thrills and joys may have been simple, but they were ever fulfilling to a child's tender heart. Each little moment has knit my family closer than words can express. And though that red brick house has since been sold, I am ever thankful for the blessed memories of its heavenly sanctuary.
