Down the grass hill past the electrical box, once used as a bike jump, lies a place that holds many memories and a special place in my heart. The third base line fence is a little bent, due to hanging on it and trying to do many pull-ups on it. Our bikes lie wherever we dropped them to go play along the third base line. Behind the arched backstop behind home plate, the almost rotted bench perches up on the falling bricks. Underneath, grass so patted down it wouldn’t need to be mowed, yet still gets a trim every week. That patted grass leads right to the dirt next to the not so white home plate. Behind the plate is an unused spot that a catcher would use if there were enough players. Three non-measured bases surround the dirt. They are so close
