Today I took my daily walk with my girl. We were walking on the trail. It was a quiet and reflective walk. I was listening to the sounds and looking at the scenery as we walked. I saw a spot in the distance that reminded me of my childhood. It was a wooded area with a small stream that flowed through it.

When I was little, I had a routine with my dad on Saturdays. We would get up and load the car for the dump. My daughter thought that was so funny. “What was a dump?” She asked. I told her how we would load up the back of our station wagons with the garbage from the week. We would drive to our local dump and back the car up to what looked like a big valley. We would throw the trash into a big gaping hole. I know it sounds strange but I loved it. It was something we did just the two of us.

It was just me and daddy and my German Shepard, Ginger. Our own special time. It wasn’t just the trip to the dump that I remember. I was what we did after.

We would drive to these woods and go explore. We would jump over logs and skip rocks in the stream. Then we would cross the stream using rocks that sat just above the water. My dog would run ahead making sure everything was ok and then run back to us.

It’s a time I remember fondly. It is those memories that will pull us through these times.