Sentimental

I am remembering my summer vacations in a weekend house with my little brother and my parents. An austere, spartan place, with drinking water from a well in the woods. As a child, I hated carrying those heavy canisters. I hated the one hour walk there from the nearest bus stop, carrying all food and stuff in the backpacks. Happy to see my grandparents coming to visit us in a car, with cakes and other luxury items. On Friday evenings in July and August, happy to see either my Mom or my Dad, coming by bus for a weekend, bringing newspapers and magazines. In late August, waking up early to a cold house to go mushroom picking. Wish I could go back in time.