In adult years, it was only yesterday. In child years, it would probably seem like forever. Whatever measure you live by, the days when my children took the path between our former house and their Mamaw and Papaw’s are long gone. As I drove past the path, I brought my vehicle to a sudden stop, visualizing my children running through the grass. I have an aged and worn photograph I had taken of the two siblings as they covered the distance that lay from our house to the grandparents; but I don’t really need it to spur the memory. I realized today that it is forever etched in my mind’s eye.

I could see my son carrying his stick sword to ward off cattle or other evil should either suddenly appear. I could see my daughter trailing in his wake, a favorite doll in tow, safe in the knowledge that her big brother would protect her should the need arise.

Our son, the older of the two at six years, pretended to be brave as he kept a watchful eye on the Black Angus bull that stood heads taller than he did, grazing the field throughout the day. The animal would never hurt him, but our son didn’t know that.

Our daughter, three at the time when the journey was first allowed, thought she was such a big girl as she crawled under the electric fence, and then ten feet beyond where it ended, before she would stand up for fear of touching it and getting shocked. I may have put a little too much emphasis on the shock factor.

I remember the excitement on my children’s faces once the grandparent’s yard was breached and they spotted Mammaw and Papaw watching through the window for their approach, usually with a treat in hand.

The grandparents have passed on and we have moved to a new house, so the field between the former residences is not one I notice very often, even though I drive by it every day. Today was different.

The field is harvested for hay in the spring and as I drove past the freshly mown grass, I spotted the trail my children had formed many years ago. The hay had been baled, but the path was lower than the rest of the field and some pieces remained caught in the channel created by the path.

My children had made the journey on an almost daily basis for the length of their childhood. Though they moved away more than fifteen years ago, the once well-used path was still visible. No one had walked the area for years but it was as if no time had passed. The downed hay provided a clear-cut trail. I couldn’t help myself. Tears formed in my eyes as I stopped and remembered.

There are memories that parents and grandparents treasure, and throughout the years the visions will often sneak into the forefront of our minds, suddenly and when we least expect them. Today was one of those days.

I sat for a moment calculating the years that had passed, thinking about my seven grandchildren and imagining the faces of the two soon to be added this year. These nine will never walk this particular path that their parents did; but that’s okay.

I shook off my momentary nostalgia and rejoiced in the fact that my two children now had children of their own and the thirteen, soon to be fifteen, of us make new memories each time we are all together.

The path most traveled is a completely different one now; and I am fine with that. It is the one we can all visit and walk through in our hearts and minds whenever we choose.