While reading this post by Andrea Badgley this afternoon, I was nodding my head to myself in agreement with what she had written. ”It sure is hard to find something to write sometimes, Ma’am” and ”Oh my gosh, I feel that way too! ( about sticking your thoughts on paper so they will stop jumping around in your head) ”. I read on past her suggestion box, all the while thinking it was a good idea and got to her list of things 20 things you love.
I stopped reading instantly and clicked ”Create a post”.
The thought of moss always brings back the still-fresh memory of a magical, slightly scary moment in my life. One that is, to me, worthy of writing about.
I was perhaps 5 years old, it was spring, a particularly warm day for such an early point in the season. There was still some snow and the ground was still frozen in some places. My brother was with us for the weekend and my dad brought us with him to do firewood in one of the furthest parts of our land. When we got there, he sent us off to play, away from any danger of falling trees or the fast moving logs being pulled behind our big horse.
Because I was with my big brother, it seemed Ok to wander a bit further than usual, so we found ourselves heading down into this little valley between two hills in the forest. The sun was shining down through the dense branches and budding maple leaves giving the valley that bright twinkling fairy-tale like glow and the ground was carpeted by a thick layer of warm green moss. We kicked off our shoes and walked around the warm natural carpet. I can clearly remember the warm fuzziness squishing up between my toes and the frightening moment when I stepped into a deeper part and the moss squished up over my little feet. Only as a child could I walk around barefoot in thick moss in the middle of the forest and not worry about bugs, stepping on something sharp or any other icky thing that might be hiding away below the surface. At that moment my dad appeared at the top of the hill to call us back and scolded us for having wandered so far and being barefoot. My brother and I grinned at each other and shoved our shoes back on before running back up the hill and leaving the mossy little fairyland behind. I never saw it again, maybe I simply never found the exact location, but I think most likely we had just been lucky enough to be there when the puffiness of the moss, the warmth of the sun, and the imagination of our child minds all aligned perfectly to make it a magical little fairy tale valley.