“As a whole, Boxford is a fine old farming-town; pleasant to live in, healthy, and the many natural beauties of her landscapes, with the sweet warbling of the native songsters, that inhabit the glades, and the exquisite ferns in the spring unrolling from their wooly blankets, the cardinal-flowers of the late summer, the golden-rod and asters of the autumn, and all the lovely sisterhood of flowers which adorn our hills and meadows, give a continual glow of pleasure to the heart which loves the truly beautiful and the wonders of creation.”

The History of Boxford, Essex County, Massachusetts by Sidney Perley, 1880

Four years ago our home of forty-five and a half years was sold. It was time and we were moving on to new adventures, but at the time, I was flooded with happy memories that made it bittersweet.

Transplanted by a job relocation to Massachusetts in 1973, I “discovered” Boxford as I drove around the Northshore area with a book of town maps and my newborn strapped into a car seat.  When my husband arrived at our hotel after work, I told him that I had passed through a pretty and seemingly unspoiled town that he had to see.  He liked it too…and thus began our sojourn in a green pocket tucked into the surrounding urban bustle and suburban sprawl.  

Over the years, we trekked through many of the town trails.  We observed the wetlands coming to life in spring, took refuge in their shady glens in summer, photographed their leaf-strewn beauty in autumn, and snow shoed through the quiet stillness of a winter day.  Wildcat, Bald Hill, the State Forest, and other areas preserved endangered flora and fauna and gave such pleasure during each foray.

My sanctuary was our plot of land and home.  In addition to its being part of the beauty of the town, it was filled with memories.  My children are adults now but their Boxford childhoods always came rushing back as I looked around.

A look at our driveway recalled our toddlers racing their Big Wheels down or pulling a red wagon up, our preschoolers disembarking from a nursery school carpool or rushing out to the station wagon in their swimsuits, eager for their swim lessons at Stiles Pond, and later on, our dog wagging her tail as they arrived home on the elementary school bus or took off on their bikes to meet friends.

The tiny bump of a hill in the back let me visualize them testing their first pairs of skis or yelping with delight as their sleds picked up speed. At the edge of our wetland, I saw them playing with Tonka trucks in the spring mud, swinging from a rope on the oak tree in summer, jumping into autumn leaf piles, or building snowmen and snow forts in winter.

Out in front, I saw them finding snake skins in the stone wall or licking their dripping ice cream cones from Benson’s West Boxford stand.  My mind replayed their many costumes as they headed out the door holding their Dad’s hands to go trick or treating. I remembered their enjoyment as they returned to the house with cheeks reddened from ice skating at Sperry’s Pond.

Even our garden was full of them…smiling as they ate fresh peas right out of their pods, or got excited when they found toads or worms. Watering the plants was fun; one squirt was for the tomatoes and another for their wading pool.  And how they loved to run in and out of the sprinkler!

I remember one testing the air out back for a science project and another twirling a baton on the lawn.  One helped to drag the Christmas tree to the door and the other made a scarecrow to sit on the mailbox. A backyard apple tree was a gift from them for our 25th anniversary. 

The path through our woods reminded me of teaching moments inspired by nature.  Little hands learned how marsh marigolds, jack in the pulpits, and lady slippers needed NOT to be picked to ensure their survival.

The grass of our backyard used to be lively with their soccer, baseball, badminton, Frisbee, and other sports activities, and our deck would be filled with giggles as piñatas were smashed at their birthday parties. 

To the passersby, all seemed pretty quiet on our property in those last years before we left,  but I could hear the laughter until we drove away for the last time.