Had I not found the old park, it may have been possible to convince me I'd dreamed it. Just beyond the canal, I found the sturdy wood-beam and rubber-tire playground equipment situated below the factory road in an area known to locals as 'The Valley', right where my memory said it ought to be.
Being a Valley Girl in these parts is not synonymous with wealth or privilege- in fact, it tends toward the opposite pole. The pleasures there are simple and more affordable to come by.
As a young mom, I went a stretch of time without a car, so when I finally had a way to get around, going to the playground was one of my simple pleasures. This particular park was an especial luxury- its peaceful setting at least five miles from our Valley house- much further than I could push strollers and haul babies.
As Rye explored the park broken in for her so many years ago by her siblings, I walked the track that circles the park.
On the foot path in front of me sat a lone pecan. I cracked it open and enjoyed a microscopic harvest, labor-free.
I spotted a few more and put them in my hoodie pockets. Once my pockets were full, I emptied them into a bag from my car. I had nearly 80 not counting the few I ate as I walked.
Rye tested one. She couldn't remember ever having a pecan. She liked it. I told her we could make a teeny-tiny pie with what was gathered. Fans of pie, we decided to gather more. We came home with a little over 160 pecans.
I'm thankful for pecans and walks in the park, for tire swings and teeny-tiny pie tins.
Things I've taken for granted: transportation
tree identification
unanticipated treats finding me
#TakenForGranted #ThinksGiving #Thankful
