My childhood was filled with glorious days of discovery and imagination.  During the summer my little sister and I played in the woods chasing wood elves that lived beneath the Mayapples.  If we listened carefully we could hear them scurry through the leaves and underbrush as we approached their hidden homes.  We had a secret place deep in the woods known as "Treasure Island," long abandoned by an older brother and friends.  Scraps of wood nailed to a tree led to a look-out perch as we vigilantly watched for other pirate ships.  Remnants of warm fires now just ashes, "don't play with matches," we recalled, obviously not acknowledged by our older brother, but we obeyed.   There were also little bitty crabs that hid under rocks in the creek bed and we spent hours trying to catch them.  There was an art to the catching of these little things.  First you had to pick up the stone very carefully so as not to disturb the silt and cloud the water, then you had to cup your hand behind the crab as it scurried backward very quickly.  Oh what great fun!  Sometimes they would pinch and we would giggle.  

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May was wonderous as the orchards were full of bloom.  I would lie on the soft cool grass with mounds of purple violets growing all around me as I looked into the sky full of pink and white billowing blossoms.  In the Fall they would become home baked pies, apple sauce, cider and sweet jellies and jams.  But in May the blossoms were carefully slid upon ribbons tied to make wreaths carefully placed in saucers of water with a bouquet of violets in the center.

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The summer nights were magical, too hot to be inside we would sit on quilts on the lawn until the wee hours of the morning. Dad and Mom listened to the baseball game and visited while 

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