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The place was Greenfield Massachusetts ! The setting, A quiet little town that my sisters and brother would visit during the summer each year as children.

It would be the home of my step grandparents. A beautiful two story house in a quaint neighborhood with a big back porch .I was always so fascinated by the visiting squirrels that would come up and across the wooden rail to set and eat whatever it was that we would feed them. They did not seem to be too afraid as they would allow us to get pretty close.

Beyond the porch were rows of blackberry patches and further beyond the black berry patches, train tracks ran past their house.
we would spend our days picking blackberries knowing that nana would bake us blackberry pie. When we were not picking berries either for fun or for pies, we would turn to the train tracks to watch the train go by at a certain time of each day and sometimes we would venture down or up the tracks to see where they would lead us.

If we walked far enough up the tracks we would come to behind yet another favorite spot of ours, the community pool ! My sister Dareen and my brother Joey being the older responsible ones would accompany me and my younger sister Renee as we swam, played and made many new friends.I also had one more sister, her name is Rochelle. I don't recall her being amongst us in our daily activities so I am assuming she was a baby and I must have been around seven or eight years old at the time.

Nana took much pride in her home, she was a meticulous house keeper and she could bake the absolute best blackberry pie. She loved to spend her days canning relishes and pickles and making jellies.
Lucky for me she also loved to collect poetry books ! Little did I know then, just how much I would grow to enjoy poetry and writing. It has remained a great passion of mine throughout the years.
She had a beautiful dining room with lots of windows decorated just so, a huge dining table that shined so you could see reflections of yourself in it along with book shelves full of those wonderful poetry books. One wall was dedicated to another lovely table which her old fashion type writer occupied. This room was the kind of room that seemed to en cradle you as loving arms would do.
When I think back of that dining room and my time spent there a quiet peacefulness comes to mind. I often day dreamed that I was a writer there and one day I too would write a book.

How I would love to sit and read those poetry books written by so many poets. I would sit for hours, typing ever so slowly, one letter after another, So I could take home and treasure the words I had read.

Grandpa was always fun and pleasant, he worked at the local high school as a custodian. He was quick to tell a corny joke. He always wore his smile. I swear he put it on along with his clothing each morning before coming downstairs. He did his share of contributing to my love of writing , he would always bring home plenty well received writing supplies to include construction paper, graph paper, pencils, pens and chalk. A big, big chalk board hung on the wall in the hallway as just another place for us to express our creativity.

This is my earliest memory, the place and time when I was but a child embarking on the wonders of my world .

Learn more about this author, Victoria Eisenlohr.
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