In the fifties, my mother and father bought an acre of land on a creek in North Haven. I believe the price was $1,700.00 and there they built a small ranch house that would become our family home for 60 years. It was a half a mile from the bridge and at the time people warned them that they were moving too far out from the village. Land directly on the water was not always considered desirable back then, but I know they had a vision of what our lives would be with the beauty of the seagrass, the shorebirds and a canoe that provided us with a freedom to explore the local waterways. We called the creek ‘Cook’s Creek’ but I believe it is now known as ‘Great Pond Creek’. Sixty years ago, it was filled with crabs, eels, fish, shellfish and waterfowl.

As kids we would tie a bent straight-pin onto a branch and pretend we were fishing right in my backyard. At night we would go ‘fire-lighting’ for blue-claw crabs and fill a bucket with tomorrow’s lunch. The lantern, carefully clamped to the front of the rowboat revealed the magic of sea life in a creek at night-critters scurrying about in the unexpected glow. I can still hear the echo of the paddle across the still water at night. The world seemed so much quieter then.

Our backyard was dotted with small water craft, lobster and eel pots, a scallop shack, and plenty of things to keep the six of us kids occupied-bikes, a basketball hoop, huge wire spools for balancing, a pogo stick and a skateboard. Edible fruits and vegetables grew in gardens throughout our property and my father and mother would can everything from peaches to tuna. The wooded lot next door was home to our many tree forts that we carefully constructed-each nail and piece of wood holding value.

Our backyard was a place for kickball games, snowman construction, sledding and family barbeques. It was our park, our observatory and our playground. We would build little elfin villages at the base of the oak trees with moss and twigs and acorn caps. We watched the seasons change through the colors of the seagrass and the migration of the waterfowl that visited each year.

As my mother aged her recliner faced out over the creek and she would keep a running list of all of the wildlife that visited her yard. Deer, raccoon, swan, geese, mallards, opossum, squirrels, chipmunk, fox, pheasant, quail, and a chorus of songbirds. It was as if the walls of our home extended to include and embrace the outdoors-the trees and marsh grass-the creek full of life.

After my mother’s passing, we had to sell our family home. My mind can draw a map of where each tree grew, the asparagus patch, the grape vines and the best apple tree in the land. I can still smell the salty marsh, the honey-suckle and wild sweet peas, the blossoms from the almond trees and the neighbor’s lily of the valley. I see the big rock where we played ‘King of the Hill’, the reeds we used as imaginary fishing poles and the field we visited for flying kites, tag and kickball games. My soul carries the eternal image of that creek and how lucky I was to wake up to such beauty every day.

I wonder if kids still play outdoors? Do they have kickball games and races in their new Keds? Can they name the birds that visit their yards? Do they build snowmen and tree-forts and feel the grass between their toes?

I do believe that our connection to this beautiful earth begins in our own backyards.

Your Own Backyard