My grandparents had a large yard, probably about one-and-a-half acres. It had some great climbing trees, a large vegetable garden, and some flower beds raised up about two or three feet in wonderful stone rings. Their yard was up against a wood with a creek bordered by laurel. Deer and rabbits and the occasional bear came into their yard out of those woods. It was a great place to be a kid.
When I was very young, I especially loved the butterflies that filled their yard in Spring. I used to refer to them as “my butterflies,” which apparently everyone found very cute. One Spring when I was probably just four years old, I asked why their weren’t any butterflies. The adults assured me that they were around. But they weren’t. My grandparents found out that the farmer down the road had over-sprayed his fields with pesticide. There really were very few butterflies that Spring.
I wish I was still so aware of my environment and nature’s cycles.