June 2012

The Land Remembers, by Kevin Tracy

People pass quickly. They can move in and out of your life in a heartbeat. The same goes for places, for things. What if the land remembers? Remembers whoever stood on a certain place. Remembers the buildings that stood on it. Remembers our footsteps. For all of eternity. I would like that.

The batter's box at the little league field at the Stephen Palmer would remember all those little boys "dug" in, hoping for a hit. Hoping to at least get on base and not strike out.

The gym at the old high school where you could still use the flying rings on Saturday mornings.

The Friday night sock hops at the Pollard.

Bike racks.

The cinder tracks at the Pollard and the High School. Tracks we had to run on as kids. Tracks we were tested on, ran laps on, fell on.

My back yard on Cleveland road. The yard where I caught fireflies, earthworms, played all those childhood games.

The High School hill where I ran up and down, flew down on my sled, sat on one beautiful night and broke my heart.

High Rock, Devil's Den that seemed so high, such an adventure to climb as kids.

Rosemary Lake where we went to swim in the summer, going through the gate, changing in the locker rooms, swimming to the dock, diving hoping not to go down to the mud at the bottom of "polio pond."

Pickles Pond where we learned to skate, play hockey, some days skating all day long till darkness drove us home.

The Reservoir where we caught frogs and turtles.

The Harris Woods where we drank at the spring, wrote our initials under the trestle, listened to our voices echo there, shot our bows and arrows pretending we were Robin Hood and his merry men.

The Needham Paramount where we stood under the Marquee on Friday nights.

The bubbler at the town common.

Red Wing Bay.

Bergson's, The Crest, The Bowl-a-way, Frank's, Grant's, The Five and Ten.

The squeak of Miss Dugan's shoes.

Gone now.

Gone forever.

I wonder if the land remembers? I would like it if it did.
 

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