Dear Editor - From Fred Collins

Dear Editor,

There are many that have memories that were made many years ago, and those of you that are building a life are making memories that may comfort you in the future. Memories are the goldn threads of life. It may be fulfilling to record them in your book of memories. The following memory took place when I was place on a farm as an orphan when I was 5 years old. 

My memory turns longingly to the days of long ago in the cape cod house, the old woodshed and the barn that stood so bold. I was just a little fry, as I grew beneath the sky. I had journeyed from the crowded city life to this spacious country site; where large elms and maples spread their leaves in summer’s bright. The rolling hills, the new mown hay, the fragrance one will never forget. 

The summer’s breeze from the lilac tree gave our lives a bit more zest. The cool clear water from the spring that bubbled in the glen, we drank from a little tin cup. How could anyone forget? The roundup of the cattle from the pasture by the brook: The taste of milk, so sweet and good, only the farmer understood. 

When the chores were done and the sun was not so bright, we’d gather in the old farm house to pop some corn and read a story by flickering candle light. When the oil lights flickered low and mother said, “To bed. Twas time to go.” We’d trundle up the stairs and cuddle into bed. 

And thank the lord that blessed us and kept us in his stead.

Fred Collins

USMCR retired