Willow Flats: A place that truly no longer exists as a home. A flat spot at a bend in the river that the willows, poplar and cottonwood reclaimed sometime after I left. The houses were all sold off and moved by the company that put them there in the first place - the company our parents worked for. In my childhood, there were two rows of houses. We lived second from the end of the longer row - what would have been the quiet end of the road if not for the cul-de-sac and park out front. Nearly every one of the 15 or so houses had children and from ages 5 to 13+ we would wander and swarm. Breaking into smaller groups for household visits and finding each other again for nighttime games of kick the can. We spied. We snuck beer or cigarettes. We imagined and dreamt. The bear fence around the housing didn't keep us from exploring the woods, or even keep the bears from enjoying our park and checking out our garages, though I imagine that always bothered our parents more than it did any of us. It was a happy place. A peaceful place. A place of joy. And it is where I learned the meaning of the word "community,"
|Willow Flats girls, with some favourite town friends :)|