The Pasture

Growing up, there was a place behind my parent's home called Christmas Tree Hill. All the neighborhood kids were aware of it and below the pine trees was this vast and steep area that was known as the "Dugout". I have no idea why there was this area in the middle of our neighborhood tract, but for me, it was made for adventure. My friend Richard and I used to climb up on the "Dugout" and he knew a place where there were underground springs. At least, that's what he called them. We would put sticks into the ground and then return a few days later and see crystal, clear water bubbling out of the holes. In the winter, we would travel above the "Dugout" and into the pine trees and track deer and rabbits. I cannot tell you how much fun that was.

This was a magical place for me and I often would look up at the hill at night and watch the sunset over the trees. In winter, the trees looked so beautiful under the snow. You could see the entire town of Camillus from its heights and even as far away as Onondaga Lake. My sister first introduced Christmas Tree Hill to me and showed me a very special place within its environs. After walking for sometime, we came upon a pasture in the woods. There were rabbits running around and birds in the sky, and it seemed that it was our own special place. A refuge from the dusty roads and noise of our neighborhood. The air was fresh and the pasture was peaceful and quiet. Nearby, there was a small red hut that someone had decorated with paisley flowers and smiley faces (It was the Seventies!). Clearly this was our own piece of heaven amongst the ranch homes of our neighborhood.

I know that my sister is failing now and that her breathing is becoming more and more labored. I still hold out hope and do not want to think of what is considered inevitable, but sometimes reality sets in. I pray that after her struggle is complete that she finds someplace as wonderful as the pasture of our youth.