“蚱蜢地”的童年遺趣

Walking through my neighbourhood one spring evening， I caught the fragrance of wildflowers 1）wafting from the side of the road.

It was the same perfume that surrounded me when I was a child， spending summer evenings in an 2）untended lot near our house in another small southern Ontario town. The lot was tiny， just an unmown side yard next to a 3）gravel road. But， for my friends and me， it was a wild place where we gathered regularly， from spring until the chill and early darkness of autumn sent us back into our houses.

We even organized ourselves into a club—the Nature Club—and 4）christened the lot filled with tall grasses， buttercups and Queen Anne’s lace the Grasshopper Field.

At the core of our club were my brother Frank and me， and Mary Jane and Cheryl who lived the next block over. We were united by a fascination with insects and adventure， as well as a love of penny candy purchased at the corner store. A Wilson or two might drop by， or a Leon， but it was the four of us who gathered when we heard Mary Jane’s shrill call echo through the neighbourhood.

Our chosen meeting place was next to the overgrown honeysuckle bush. There we sipped 5）nectar from the blossoms while discussing our various projects： building a fort， organizing a lemonade stand， riding our bikes to the canal bank to catch crayfish， 6）scouring the ditches north of our house for 7）tadpoles. Much of what we did depended on the time of year.

A hydro cut ran behind the houses of the neighbourhood. Hidden by trees and bushes， it was the Secret Ditch. Normally it was dry， but each spring， waist-high water from the melt and rain filled it. One year， we launched a raft. Made of elm logs from recently cut trees， scraps of board and about a thousand nails， it didn’t sink immediately， but slowly and inevitably， as Frank poled it down the ditch.

With summer， the Grasshopper Field came alive with butterflies and 8）moths， dragonflies and damselflies， hovering above the flowers and grasses. 9）Finches floated through the air and sparrows took dust baths at the side of the road. But it was mid-summer that we waited for. It was then that the grasshoppers emerged， at first as tender and green as the stalks they clung to.

By August they were mature， hardened and 10）robust， spraying out in front of us as we waded through the thigh-high grass. On those 11）hazy summer days， insects 12）chirped and buzzed while the grass rippling in the wind sounded like water.

Of course， the adventure was in the chase—in trying to collect those various flying， hopping， crawling insects that populated the field. With patience and 13）perseverance， we snagged them in cupped hands and then examined the intricate 14）mandibles of the smaller grasshoppers， the colours and patterns of butterflies and beetles， the rippling legs of a 15）centipede， the feathery antennae of a moth.

We held the insects carefully， kept them in jars briefly and then released them. We took out books from the library to learn more about them， and about the plants and the birds we saw.

But there was one insect we could not catch—the giant grey grasshoppers that blended in with the gravel road and took flight as soon as we approached. It was my otherwise 16）lumbering and easygoing Maine coon cat who displayed an unexpected talent for catching the elusive prey in mid-air， but she never shared the 17）specimens with us.

With late August and early evenings， cricket songs filled the Grasshopper Field. After a long summer， our thoughts turned to school.

In September， we still gathered on Saturdays， mostly to talk. Then， with the first cold nights of autumn， the Grasshopper Field became silent and still. The Nature Club would resume its meetings there in the spring. Though eventually， the centre of our universe shifted.

We began going downtown on Saturdays to check the CHUM music charts at Kresge’s before stopping for a Coke at Woolworth’s. We began taking on odd jobs during the summer—mowing lawns， babysitting， helping around the house. We were getting ready to be teenagers， and abandoned the Grasshopper Field in the process.

One day its owner claimed it， mowing down the grasses and wildflowers， cutting the honeysuckle bush and turning our once wild sanctuary into a suburban lawn.

I remember being surprised at how small the lot was； it had contained such large dreams and adventures.

In the woods behind the house where I now live， there are forts and 18）lean-tos among the 19）thickets and bike trails. There are also wooden survey stakes with orange ribbons attached to them. Childhood does not last forever.

在某個春天的傍晚，走過我住的社區時，我嗅到了野花的芬芳從路邊飄來。

小時候住在南安大略省的一個小鎮時，我總會在家附近一小塊無人照管的野地上消磨夏日的傍晚時光，同樣的芬芳一直環繞著我。那塊野地很小，不過是一條碎石路旁一個未曾除草的側院罷了。但對于我和我的小伙伴們來說，那是我們定期聚會的野地，從春季一直持續到秋季的寒意和早早降臨的黑夜將我們趕回到屋內為止。

我們甚至還自己組建了一個俱樂部——“大自然俱樂部”——并將這塊充滿了高高的野草、毛茛和野胡蘿卜花的荒地命名為“蚱蜢地”。

我和我的兄弟弗蘭克是俱樂部的核心成員，還有住在隔壁街區的瑪麗·簡和謝莉爾。我們因為對昆蟲和冒險的癡迷，以及對街角商店里一便士一粒的糖果的熱愛而聚在一起。威爾森家的一兩個孩子或者萊昂家的某個孩子也許會順便來玩，而我們四個人只要聽到瑪麗·簡尖厲的叫聲在社區里回響就會過來集合。

我們集合地選在枝葉蔓生的金銀花叢旁邊。我們在那里邊吮吸花蜜邊討論不同的計劃：建造一座堡壘、組建一個賣檸檬汽水的小攤、騎自行車去運河岸邊抓小龍蝦、在我們房屋北面的溝渠里找蝌蚪。我們的活動大部分取決于當時的季節。

我們社區的房屋后面有一條排水溝，被樹木和灌木叢掩藏著，是我們口中的“秘密水溝”。它通常是干涸的，但每年春季，融雪和雨水灌滿其間，水深齊腰。……