Why, hello there, nostalgia

When I was three, my sister and I bundled up in our Gap sweaters and tiny jeans, then spent the evening following Mom and Dad around the backyard garden. We avoided the buzzing mosquitoes that loved to bomb-dive us while we tried to help pick the sour crab apples from the trees that were far too tall for us and the spaghetti squash that was half our size. The breeze burrowed into our clothes and when we became tired, we crawled into Dad's arms to be carried back into the house before we dropped into a deep slumber.

When I was four, my two older cousins came over to visit. We spent the afternoon sliding down the worn carpet stairs on our stomachs, trying to be the fastest. As it turned out, it wasn't a good idea. I had carpet burn all over my stomach and chest for days, and they won anyways. 

Rollerblading

When I was seven, I was running out of room on my bookshelf. We were in my new house, the one where I was too afraid to stay in the basement by myself for long because of the monsters in the shadows. I decided to put my books in my closet instead, but in a few years I had to buy a new bookshelf. I still ran out of room. 

When I was eight, my brother, sister and I yanked on our long socks, snow pants, fleece jacket, mittens, snow coat, hat and boots. Then, of course, someone had to go to the bathroom and complete the whole ritual all over again. We scurried outside and followed Dad as he snowblowed a path to school. We stood in the snow that plunged to the earth as the snowblower whined in our ears, muffled from the layers of clothing wrapped around our heads, then flung ourselves in the deep snowdrifts. The streetlights illuminated the snow that fell like icing sugar. We flung snowballs when we didn't think anyone was looking, but we were always caught in the end. 

When I was eleven, our family went on a quaking trip to Kakwa Falls with the family across the street. Excitement bubbled in my chest when I was finally allowed to drive the quad, but I was always distracted by the wild strawberries and the butterflies that crossed our path. Fallen trees were my Achilles Heel. Mom or Dad would take the reigns when the deep mud became too much, and I never minded. We raced around the empty, silent trees with our neighbours as our rubber boots sank into the thick, spongy peat, then we snacked on crisp green beans as our parents climbed down to the falls. My neighbour's boots floated away in a river we crossed, never to be seen again. I discovered my waterproof boots weren't quite waterproof. 

Nostalgia is defined as "a sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past." For me, it's also the knowledge that things were once good in the past, and they'll be good in the future, despite today's circumstances, good or bad. 

What are your favourite childhood memories?