The search for my roots

Today, is a day I look back. . . to my childhood.
When in the hot July days of Portugal,
in the North toward Averio,
in the region of Sever do Vouga.
Where my sister and I were playmates,
and digging out potatoes in my grandparents
plot of land.
We'd dig.
We'd feel together.
We'd be happy digging.
Not even a thought.
If someone were to remind me of this:
it'd be rather enthralling.
What 'if'?
What would you think of doing;
if the situation arose!
A group of wealth-purpose-desire.
Which category would you benefit most,
and some unknown entity pointed in a direction.
"Go outside, there is soil to shovel."
Would you assume responsibility?
Would you take care of point 'a' to point 'b'.
Would you question the duty,
or ask yourself what on earth is this person
referring to.
They possibly couldn't be referring to me?
What a huge mountain to climb!
Could they be imagining things.
Why, is there (possibly) a mound of soil.
That is the most powerful of reasons.
Not to think.
Then you act.
You imagined the soil,
and said 'yes'. . .
I would love to take care of that.
I will do the job.
And you present the idea.
It doesn't matter what the soil is,
if it's there or not.
To imagine the fact were true,
is a matter of principle.
And you.
Yes - you.
Were the one to fit the description.
You took the intiative.
You made it count.
And you among all the others, -
chose to make the choice
- before anyone else could answer.