L'aura del Campo

2019年5月22日: Dirt-dreams-blog

When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up?

My Town

I was 10 playing in the dirt under the swing set. I used odd shaped blocks of wood for houses, weeds for trees, clay for roads. I had plastic and metal cars. My favorite was an old Dodge.

I dreamed of becoming an engineer even though I didn't know what that was and everyone around us worked in the factories. I decided I was going to Purdue University although I'd never been to Indiana.

But I also had planted my first garden in the corner the year before. My father believed in grass. Every year my gardens grew bigger. But my favorite wild flower, the scarlet pimpernel, grew in the lawn.

I dreamed of trees, lots of big trees, arcades of spreading elms, orioles hanging from their boughs. But I lived on clay marshlands, abandoned strawberry fields with rabbits, cottonwoods, dandelions and a few robins.

I envisioned a world of beauty playing in the dirt and reading books. My reality wasn't pretty and my dreams weren't practical.

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By 11 I wanted to visit Tennessee, by 12 Norway. My book on Japan kept reminding me of beauty. I was learning French, could sing "Stille Nacht" in German. Any practical dream died bit by bit and wasn't replaced. I withdrew into my own world.

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By the time I went off to college, I was known for my gardens in a town that didn't give a rat's ass. I hated English class and Phys Ed and didn't care about studying so my grades were up and down. I did well on my exams though. Except I freaked out on one that would've given me a scholarship and there was no do-over. I was accepted to the honors program in Wisconsin... but we didn't have the money... so I didn't enroll.

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Dreams continued to drift.

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As did I. I still gardened. I still loved beauty. My degree in Biology was almost "worthless" but it did help me get jobs doing things I didn't want to do and didn't have the skills for.

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I did what I could. I served my community and tried to get to know myself. Neither worked out well.

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Now I call myself a writer. Because? I write. I'm a traveler because I travel.

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Dreams are not always practical.

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