Usually in the mornings I would watch the Balinese hard at work, barefoot and knee deep in mud. They would acknowledge me and my family and continue their daily ritual of growing rice. Sometimes my cousins and I would roam the rice paddies on our own becoming lost and then found again for hours. What a sense of freedom as we ran around playing tag and silly games.
The evenings tended to be a bit eerie, especially when the full moon shined down on our path. There was one evening when we ran into a witch doctor, we got out of her way as fast as possible. My mom was extremely scared and immediately wanted to protect us from what she believed to be a very evil woman.
Unfortunately it is much more difficult nowadays to take the rice paddies strolls through the hills of Bali. In fact, it is virtually impossible to experience this sweet sensation. I will carry these memories with me forever and never take for granted the special childhood that I had. Bali lives in me and through me, I am so grateful for the experiences that I have had on this special Island.
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