FINAL WEEKLY SCRIBBLING #93 We're asked to write of a special childhood activity, something we especially enjoyed. Many things came to mind, but evening bicycle rides clung to my memory. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, October 27, 2021
In my childhood world, the vast agrarian space of central Illinois was divided in exact mile squares, each comprising 640 acres of rich black soil, and divided into tidy little homesteads, each with a house, a barn, a corn crib and perhaps a small shed for chickens. There were only five such homes along the roadside of our mile square, and between them just the vastness of Illinois prairie. One of my favorite pastimes was a bicycle ride around our square mile just at dusk. The only sound was that of my bicycle wheels on the gravel road, and the occasional trill of a meadowlark or red-winged blackbird in the fencerows. The most perfect rides were just after the alfalfa and sweet clover had been cut to dry and be baled for feed for livestock during winter. The scent of new mown hay is intoxicating and unparalleled. No perfumer has ever been able to recreate it. I dreamed great things on those solitary rides in the innocence of my childhood. How I wish I could reproduce those magic rides.