The seasons change and I have noticed that I have been more aware recently of the changes.  I welcome the coming of autumn since it brings the cooler weather but I also long for the warmth of summer, especially late summer.  It is in late summer when the sun is not too harsh, the sunset spectacular with color, and the evening breeze is cool.  It is also the time when I sit in the backyard and reminisce.

There are times when I am sitting alone and find myself thinking of memories that make me feel good inside.  It comes rushing back in bits and pieces and I know that it was a happy moment in my life.  I try hard to recall the whole event that transpired but I feel as though I am looking at an old 8 mm film with portions burned out or too blurry for the images to be visualized.  It is at this point that I search and it bothers me that I feel good about the memory but can’t recall all of it.  Is it not that good memories are supposed to be recalled in full vivid color?

I look at an old photograph of a boy of about six or seven years old, skinny, dark-skinned, and wearing a brightly colored pair of shorts and light colored shirt.  The boy is standing close to a big shade tree and holding a short-handled axe.  The axe looks similar to the axe of a legendary ninja boy of a popular Japanese movies series when he goes to battle. Hence, this little boy is probably yielding a short-handled axe and pretending to play his favorite movie character!  The squinty grin on the face showed how much he enjoyed his role playing.

The feeling of getting hustled out of bed on a warm, humid morning is not fun though.  Everything looks hazy and the struggle to wake up is a real battle.  Even the splash of cold water on the face and brushing the stale breath out of the mouth becomes a chore.   That was how I remembered feeling that morning – tired, sluggish, and like sleep didn’t come at all the night before.  Were it not for the fragrant smell of food then I would have gone back to bed and risk the scolding that comes with squeezing a few more minutes of sleep.  After breakfast, I remember seeing a parked vehicle outside the house.  Boxes and containers were being loaded and everything was getting cramped in a limited space until it fit snugly and securely.

The ride was along a bumpy stretch of road and seemed to take a long time but we already know that it was not really that far away.  It was nauseating and the morning air made it feel better with the breeze on the face and blowing away the warm feeling.  The familiar short sharp turns marked the spot where the highway turned into a long stretch of farm road.  The smell of engine exhaust faded and was replaced by the smell of freshly-turned soil as the vehicle started to rush by farm houses and animals.  There was an impression of a picturesque morning with the sun rising and reflected on the dew-filled trees and grass.  A succession of acquainted structures followed and gave the cue that the destination was close – the old Catholic church, the gasoline station, the police station, the town physician’s clinic, the small hardware store, the bakery, the pharmacy, the house with the parakeet, the town physician’s residence, and finally, the old wooden house.

The old wooden house sat on a corner of a rectangular lot at the end of the block. It was built a few years back and was barely lived in.  Muddy, unpaved roads stretched at each corner and the wooden fence planks marked its boundary. Just inside the wooden fence was a Mango tree that seemed to tower over everything else.  I cannot recall a time when the Mango tree did not have some fruits on its branches.  There was always some hanging and ready to be picked.  Its fruits were the kind that made you drool in the mouth while it was still being peeled.  Further inside the fence lay the front yard with its tall grass and palm plants.  The palm plants lined the walkway towards the road and the weeds surrounded it.  The weeds needed trimming as it was tall enough that it brushed against the knee and let go of its fluffy white seeds that floated in the air.  It was fun shaking the weeds and watch the fluffy white seeds float away.  There were other tall trees around the house and most of them were bearing fruits.  The ripe ones got readily picked from the branches like the fruit from guava tree with its green skin and pink flesh or the purple-colored juicy fruits of the Star Apple tree.

The crudely dug well at the back of the house was laden with tadpoles. The tadpoles swam at the sides of the well, chased each other around, and was fun to watch. It was probably the cool, slightly muddied water that attracted all the frogs to make this well their breeding place and simply filled up the well with a lot of the wriggly creatures. It was tempting to catch and bag them but it can be tricky with everybody warning against falling into the well. The sides were muddy, slippery, and it was deep.

A short flight of stairs led to the porch of the house.  This was the best place to hang out since it afforded a full view of the front yard and the road.  This was also the best place to watch the evening stars and the morning sunrise.  Very few vehicles and people go through the road.  The people who walked by appeared to be well acquainted since they waved as they walked by.  The smell of old wood permeated inside the house and the wood-burning stove in the kitchen added to the aroma.  The thump of each footstep can be heard and it creaked with each movement.  I felt it was mystical thinking about it.

The wonderful thing about being a kid was that it was all playtime.  I played the whole day and did not have to do chores meant for older kids.  I did do some light errands but it was, I think, still play time.  I looked forward to spending the weekends at that old wooden house. Evening comes quickly as the sun sets behind the house and the trees.  Besides, most of the houses did not even have electricity back then and the flickering light coming from the lamps were not so bright.  Before bedtime, we got to see the stars splashed all over the night sky and see the fireflies hover around the tall guava tree.

Photo credits: Jorge L. Silvosa