I remember after moving here, all the family loved to visit. It was the place to make memories. Paddling in the river. Feeding the ducks. Watching the lambs. Barbecues. Picnics. Easter. Never Christmas, because the weather never complied. (But one year we did Christmas, complete with tree, decorations and turkey in April, just to prove Christmas could be celebrated anytime.)
It was decided that there were no better hills for Easter egg rolling than the hills where I live. One of my favourite memories is when my niece and nephew (and the adults) spent the morning painting boiled eggs. We created masterpieces, but if my memory serves me correctly, my Dad’s was best.
Ian drove up the hill on his quad with the boiled eggs. With my Mum on the back of the quad! Yep, my Mum, in her seventies, on the back of a quad for the first time in her life. She was game for anything. Oh, how I miss her. I have a picture in my head of her that day on the quad…she was loving it. She always put her faith in God. That day she put her faith in my husband instead, and he didn’t let her down. I knew he wouldn’t. I'm sure there is a photo of my Mum on that quad with Ian, but I have searched and searched and can't find it. Maybe there never was one...maybe the picture was only ever in my head. I'm sure this photo was taken the same day.
So the eggs were rolled, the kids ran to get the eggs, but my dog, my lovely Red, chased after the eggs too. He beat the kids. I also have a picture in my head of Red that day, running after those eggs, laughing. He loved to laugh. I stood at the bottom of the hill shouting not to let him have any more eggs. Everyone laughed at me…‘Leave him be…he’s having fun!’ Yes, he is, I thought….but I’d need to live with the result. Oh, our house certainly didn’t smell of roses for the next couple of days.
It was a fun day.
Everything has changed since then. The kids have grown up. I no longer have my Mum. I no longer have my Red. But the memories stay.
I like to remember days like that. I know they won’t happen again, but remembering makes me smile.
Memories are wonderful, aren’t they?