Harvest moon

I pushed my doll carriage towards the back corner of the lawn. My sister, Janet, pushed hers towards the other corner. We were trying to get as close as possible to the giant moon at the end of our yard. I shouted “The moon’s closer to me!” Janet shouted, “No, it’s closer to me.” We switched sides, guiding our buggies across the lawn, giggling as we passed each other, and the moon followed each of us. This clearly amused both of us because we switched sides several times. Once when we met in the middle, we stood side by side and thrust our fingers as high in the sky as four and five year olds could and pointed to the moon. I could clearly see that the moon was closer to me than it was to my sister. We argued gleefully about it until our mother called us in for night.

Oftentimes I returned to the backyard of my childhood for family picnics or just a visit. Memories of that harvest moon, hanging low in the sky usually accompanied me. The picnics usually played out the same way, Dad at the barbecue, my mother running back and forth from the house ferrying food to the picnic table. My sisters and I would amuse ourselves watching our children play in a kiddy pool or spray each other with the hose. The best of the picnics were bountiful in food and laughter.

Now that Dad is gone, Mom will be selling the house. What will happen to the harvest moon in the backyard? Will it follow us?

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