Yesterday, I was dragged (against my will of course, I am an inherently lazy person) to go eat berries off the shatoot tree that grows next to the soccer field. Although I went thinking, what a waste of time, by the end of it, I was engrossed in the simple act of pick and taste. There is an incredible amount of satisfaction to have berry juice stained hands and tangy juice in your mouth.

The last time I picked berries was eleven years ago, when I was 9. I used to love picking berries then, there was this particular raspberry bush, in which I used to spend all day. An hour before dusk, I would crawl out, covered in thorns and berry juice, and jump in the lake for a quick dip before dark.
Now I’m sitting here and wondering, how many things did I revel in during childhood, which slowly and steadily slipped away as I became an “adult”. I used to love riding my bike, mud beneath my toes, and the taste of plums. I don’t have the time to ride my bike anymore, mud beneath my toes makes me feel icky, and plums are too mushy for my taste buds. What happened along the way? What did I loose?

This summer I’m going to spend as much time as I can with my12 year old sister, in an attempt to relearn what it feels like to be a child. Maybe it’s impossible, but I’ll risk a jump in the lake to find out.