by Ann Hinds

Created on: April 12, 2010   Last Updated: April 13, 2010

I am the first to arrive. The four baseball diamonds are empty and the dew is still on the ground. The wind is starting to blow but it is nothing new. It is always windy here. I know that it is going to be a busy day but for the moment I savor the quiet. Clouds fill the sky drifting in lazy patterns. I see a whale floating by in a sea of blue.

They will water down the dusty baseball fields and the kids will have a great time making the first prints of the day. Surrounded by hills and open land, I see the shepherd and the sheep beginning their day as the dog runs around, herding them. The hawks, circling the fields planted with hay, are searching for their morning meal.

The highway, running east and west, is the only noise to disturb the peace and quiet. Even so, the noise is not distracting. To the left, the highway reaches up to the crest of the hill, winding around and disappearing. The dam on the other side of the hill will be busy with campers and boaters but the sounds will not reach us.

For a moment, lost in time, there is no past or present. The hills rise up from the fields, gradually growing bigger until they became the larger mountains. Not more than an hour away, the snow will last until the beginning of summer. The kids point at the snow-capped mountains and share their experiences. To the right of the fields where the highway continues are dairies. Occasionally, the scent drifts over the fields making the kids hold their noses. Amused parents remember when they were kids and held their noses too.

The families are arriving. Startled out of my reverie, I prop open the door to the snack bar. Many families will spend the whole day here with children of different ages playing games at different times. The Itty-bitty kids in their colorful uniforms run here and there. The parents, knowing that they have nowhere else to go, allow a little more freedom. The fields are fenced on all sides with only one gate. The four and five year olds, proudly carrying their brand new baseball bags loaded with new bats and gloves, yell to their friends.

The six to eight year old kids, more seasoned, arrive carrying their slightly scuffed bags. Spreading out on the open grass area, they pull out their gloves to play catch. The nine to ten year old players swagger in. They are more experienced at that age and feel slightly superior to the younger players. They have just hit the division where stealing home is allowed and at least one of them is called out each game trying

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