Youthful Attachment

As with several other Bloganuary prompts, my first impulse with today’s “junior Geo jumpstart” was to balk. Corralling the question into some sort of Rosslyn roundup struck me as Procrustean. But morning was early, and my mind began to wander. I suspect the prompt was soliciting recollections of childhood toys and other artifacts from younger years. But other far flung points of reference flickered into view. Intrigued and distracted, I yielded to meandering memory and discovered vestiges of my youthful attachment still very much alive and well these many decades later.

Here’s the prompt.

Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a youth. What became of it?

As an itty-bitty boy, I was incredibly attached The Farm in Cossayuna, New York, the first home I actually remember. It was an old farmstead with several overgrown meadows in the middle of a forest. Bucolic perfection for a small boy. Hours on end, days on end adventuring. Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, rhubarb, apples,… Old barns to explore and immense trees to climb. It was my world, and an immensely wonderful-filled world. Although my parents sold this property in 1977, I had an opportunity to revisit about a decade ago. Here’s a glimpse into what had become of it.

After the farm, I became deeply attached to Homeport in Wadhams, New York. Another ambitious renovation project undertaken by my parents while we lived in this grand historic property that had been abandoned for about fifty years (I’ll confirm and update) when my parents purchased it. Handsome home, stone terraced lawns and gardens, a quirky little boathouse on the Boquet River, plenty of forest to explore, and the most incredible barn. There were horse stalls and other barn-y features, but there were also servants quarters, and an upstairs ballroom where we could ride out bicycles inside during snowy months. Now the home of others, it’s been several decades since I have seen the property.

In both cases the old, mostly abandoned barns were subjects of my youthful attachment. Today this youthful attachment still beckons. I’m especially smitten with bygone barns that invite exploration and kindle the imagination.

Another youthful attachment? Poems. When we were children, my mother encouraged us to memorize and recite poems as birthday gifts for my father. We would practice for a few weeks during our commute to and from school, and then we would recite the poem yo my father on his birthday. One of my favorites was “Fern Hill”.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes…

— Dylan Thomas, “Fern Hill” (Source: Academy of American Poets)

This and many other poems remain important connections with my father, brother, and sister. They’re woven into our shared memories, enduring points of reference as we navigate the world, reawakening childhood imagination, and inviting us to live, play, and work in a world that’s part reality and part poetry.

As I try to gather the strings together, like closing up a small satchel so that the contents won’t fall out, I notice that each of these examples of youthful attachment are carefree islands inhabited by imagination and slow time. There are barns in common, and wonder. Also a sort of pastoral lyricism. What, then, has become of these youthful attractions? They endure. In fact, they are stronger than ever!