The first couple places we lived gave me very few clear memories because of my age. Knowing where I lived and at what age we moved actually did help me place memories and how old I was when they occurred.
We pick up our story at a new house, twenty miles outside of a major U.S. city, located several municipalities south of the other two that we have traversed. This one has a front yard with a hill rolling down toward the street and a grass covered ditch of sorts where the water moves from one culvert to the next.
We also lived on a good size hill and our street led down to a dead end due to an interstate that ran by our neighborhood.
But none of that mattered much to me as a four year old kid. My younger brother and I just wanted to play in the yard and we constantly made believe that the ditch was a war zone, rocks were the bombs that fell, and each explosion was a hand full of dirt thrown directly in the direction of up.
G.I. Joe games were only the first of many. We also had a back yard that had a fair size forest in it. The property line was somewhere midway through the forest which gave way to farmland if you walked far enough. With farm fields, comes mice.
That is the end of this memory clip. Next up, the cat...
such beautiful memories