I live in a house located across the street from the house my father built. We moved into that house when I was five years old. Back then, there weren't a lot of houses on the hill, but one house that was here before the Taylor's arrived was the Kennards, Frank and Gladys's house.
Tonight I went walking in the neighborhood and I stopped at a spot where we, as kids, used to cut through the upper part of our yard and the lower part of the Kennard's yard to get to State Street. As I walked over to where the properties meet, a flood of memories came back to me and I saw a trail where we used to use. I even looked for the bamboo plant that used to grow between the properties, but it was long gone. I do remember an actual bamboo plant used to grow there. I still don't know how it managed to live through our winters. There even used to be a small stream where our irrigation water came onto our property. Things have changed in four decades...
I remember hiking the short trail between our houses to find my mom. She and Gladys would be sitting in the Kennard's kitchen just talking. I also remember my mother being so sad when her friend and our neighbor passed away. They were good friends.
I have no idea if anyone ever uses the trail between the houses. I doubt little kids run up and down the mountain in search of their mother anymore. It's too bad...it was a nice little trail.
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