From the moment I woke up, play beckoned.

It called me outside to soak in the sunlight and warmth, to climb high into the trees, to wander the forest just to see where it ended. Sometimes it pulled me to sit quietly at my grandmother’s feet, getting lost in the folds of her skirt, or to build grand cafés and winding tunnels in the maze of sagebrush near our home.

Hours would pass and when my mother worried we hadn’t come back to eat, my grandmother would smile and say, “Let them be. Play is feeding them.” And she was right.

As the sun began to go behind the hills, my cousins and I would drag ourselves home, reluctant but already dreaming of tomorrow. Maybe we’d finally discover who left those mysterious footprints, or maybe- just maybe- our trusty Huffy bike would fly us across the ditch like Evel Knievel. We just needed to pedal a little harder, maybe add some weight to the front.

Play was everything. It instantly connects me back to my home, my cousins, and a time in life when everything seemed right. I never knew that our life was simple because our imaginations made it rich. Junk became treasure. And even now, you can still find remnants of our play scattered around our home and tucked into the forest.

With our four-legged friends beside us, we traveled the world, fearless and full of adventure. I’ve always hoped my children would have those same experiences.–Crystal, United States