Big families usually make you think of suppers with all the fixings, crowded couches while watching the Sunday night movie, and crowded cars with four in the back and four in the front with Mother holding the youngest on her lap. Despite the fact that I was that youngest child on my mother’s lap, growing up, I sometimes felt I were an only child. Thirteen years separated me from my oldest brother, while seven years distanced me from my nearest sibling. Even though my mother called me her baby and scolded my brothers and sisters, she could not persuade them to let me act my age. Years later with my siblings so much older and involved in new endeavors, I gladly welcomed their absence now and then, and I learned to make the most as the "only child." One place heightened my curiosity, and my mother encouraged me to play there.
    During a summer afternoon, you could find me in my mother’s garden, accompanied by my cat. After stepping off the hot redwood deck just outside our front door, my feet felt good on the soft, green grass. Forty to fifty paces later I arrived at the apple trees that lined the one half acre garden on one side. One of the trees I especially liked to climb because one of its low branches resembled an elbow. Abrasive limbs scratched my hands, feet, and knees, but nothing felt better than sitting on that elbow and leaning back under the shade of the fruit and leaves. I inspected all the apples within safe reaching distance until I found the best one, and after snapping it off, the warm apple juice made my face and hands sticky.
    After climbing down the tree and throwing the apple core across the barbed-wire fence to test my throwing arm, I visited the grapevine which grew in a perpendicular direction from the apple trees. Checking their progress, I searched the vines for one slightly purple bunch that, even though premature, would easily release the green cavity from its purple skin. Occasionally, the sweet perfume of pink peonies interrupted my train of thought from the other side of the vines until I found my prize, a dark purple bunch hanging from the bottom limb. Wounding the vine meant nothing to me as the warm bunch rested in my sticky hand.
    After obtaining my prize, I visited what I considered to be my favorite spot. With a grape bunch (sometimes bunches) in my hand, I walked across the hot, cracked dirt towards the tall oak tree standing at the top of a large hill that held the primitive remains of my brothers’ treehouse. As I sat down on the ground, not worrying about grass stains or crawling bugs, I took in the beautiful view. The black topped road at the bottom of the hill separated me from a huge, sweet alfafa field. That scent and the sweet smell of freshly cut grass filled my nostrils and made me relax. As I popped one grape off at a time, I listened to the wind rustling through the leaves above and heard my cat’s content purr. Poplar trees lined a hill to my left and bunches of irises, yellow and purple with their fascinating bloom, contentedly rested in their shade.
    "Angie, you’ve been out here all day. It’s time for supper." My mother’s shouts from the deck brought me back to reality as I realized the minutes had turned into hours. Although I hated to go inside, I enjoyed dinner because I knew Mom and Dad would be home as well as my brothers and sisters. Although I hated washing and drying the dishes, I knew if I helped, I would be able to go outside again.
    After making my way past the apple trees and through the pink and white chrysanthemums, my eyes locked on my dessert, bulging red strawberries. My conscience told me not to pick too many or my mother might notice when she watered later. After devouring a few lush strawberries, I relaxed under the tall, proud oak tree to wait for twilight. I soon heard squishing footsteps and sloshing water in a bucket. Turning around, I saw my mother walking towards me, carrying the heavy green buckets filled with well water. Quite often I helped her water and weed the garden. Sometimes I made a few mistakes, accidentally picking a carrot out of the ground instead of the weed. When we finished, my mother walked back to the house, and I resumed my wait.
    With the rough bark scraping my back through my T-shirt, I noticed the grass under my dirty feet begin to feel damp. The coolness surprised me, especially when a breeze carried it from the hill below. Finally, darkness invaded the garden and lightning bugs blinked one after the other like white lights on our Christmas tree. I immediately raced toward the closest light. Not giving up, I continued until my hands were closed like a cup and something inside brushed against my sensitive palm. I opened my hands and studied this magnificent creature with its glowing bulb until it flew away into the blackness. Without my mother calling me, I gradually made my way inside by the light of the moon and our security light. Bugs of all shapes and sizes swarmed around its glow.
    Even though I entered the house with my face streaked with juice, seeds in my teeth, and dirty feet, my mother still welcomed me inside. "Goodnight, Angie," my mother whispered in the darkness. As I rested my head on my soft, goosefeather pillow and listened to the chirping crickets outside the open window, I knew exactly where I would be tomorrow.