This entry was posted on Saturday, June 26th, 2010 at 12:08 am and is filed under memories, parenting. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Walking barefoot through the dew drenched grass is one of my favorite ways to start a summer day. Years ago when I still lived at home with my parents, and then after, when we had a lawn of our own, I used to love waking up early on summer mornings, sometimes as early as five, to curl my toes in the grass, inhaling the early morning scent of the roses climbing the side of the house, before settling on the doorstep with my steaming mug of hot milk or coffee, and a side of half a loaf of crusty French bread.
Any child can tell you that very few things taste better than bread smeared with butter and honey and dipped in milk, first thing on an empty stomach. Add a handful of sun ripened raspberries and the melody of chirping bluebirds, and it is blissful heaven.
When I was a kid we had egg laying chickens, and it was my job on summer mornings to go and fetch the still warm eggs. The chickens terrified me and I used to take a stick with me to swat at them should they come flying my way. I don’t remember them attacking me, but I do remember having to shove them off the eggs.
If there were enough for all of us, my dad would peel a few potatoes, wash them well and cut them into strips for frying. He’d fry the eggs too, just enough to be considered cooked, but still soft yellow and runny, and make a fresh cucumber and tomato salad on the side. We’d eat them hungrily, wiping our plates clean with leftover bread, that last taste of all the flavors soaked into its crust, the most delicious of all.
But my favorite start to a summer day, is when I awaken sandwiched between the bodies of my little loves, their gentle snores singing in my ear. Perhaps it is the early morning light that wakes them and brings them to our bed. I hold them close and breath in their sweet scent, wanting the moment to last forever. Their daddy and I watch them sleep and whisper our love for them, the joy they bring to us, wanting so much to be perfect parents to these two blessings entrusted to us for loving and raising. Only after we are all awake do we make our way to the kitchen with its many windows and refrigerated bounty for a hearty breakfast only daddies know how to prepare.