The schoolhouse doors burst open to free hundreds of noisy, excited kids the third week of every June. Official summer lasted from the Fourth of July holiday until Labor Day weekend.
School started again the Tuesday after Labor Day. Two whole months of freedom! We savored the very thought.
Our home was nestled in the Hudson River Valley in upstate New York. Summers were happy and full of new discoveries a we played outside from sun up until the fireflies called us home at night. Our days were as unrestricted as we could persuade our mom to let them be. Our house was located near the end of a dead-end road so the only close neighbors were the chipmunks I shared my climbing trees with, the deer and rabbits who snacked on our vegetable garden and the occasional skunk who got too familiar with our boxer.
It was a magical time as we spent hours on our bicycles investigating everything we deemed necessary to explore. Bicycle maintenance was a must and we quickly learned how to change our own flats, adjust chains and replace spokes.
One of my most favorite pastimes was damming up a little brook than ran under the road. It was shaded by huge old oak trees that leaned down towards us as it provided hours of delight. We built villages on its banks and fashioned boats out of twigs. The broad oak leaves were perfect as sails and we ran along the banks as the current carried the little boats downstream. Our communities stood until the nest thunderstorm melted
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On rainy days we sequestered ourselves in a screened porch. We built forts by draping blankets, sheets and quilts over the white wicker furniture and played marathon board games as the rains drenched our outside domain. We usually dined on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with an occasional tuna or liverwurst surprise. Lunch was always followed by kool-aid popsicles we made by freezing our summertime drink in waxed primary-colored dixie cups. Life was good!
Bedtimes were later and rules a little more lax as we all enjoyed the long summer days. While not allows to go barefooted out of our own yard, we generally tossed the sandals as soon as we got to wherever we were going, only to hurriedly search fir them when the dinner bell sounded for us to head home.
The older kids looked out for the younger kids, albeit no by choice. Being on the "little kids," I adroitly learned what not to share around the supper table. Survival of the quietest! I remember looking forward to the "big kids" being old enough to get jobs so we younger ones would not get bossed around every summer.
When we finally were autonomous, our freedom seemed limitless. We were forever bound by our shared knowledge of the few time we bravely — so we thought — edged our big toes over the line of our constraints. Pulling carrots out of the vegetable garden, cleaning them on our shorts and chomping away is a taste that will never be duplicated. Climbing apple trees to find the perfect apple that was just beyond reach; fighting the ants to land the juiciest peach are memories that remain as vivid as the warm morning sun. I can still close my eyes and hear the buzz of the honey bees, the birdsong high above, the shrill wine of the tree frogs and the chirping crickets. The katydids lulled us to sleep at night when we finally gave in to the day's weariness.
I will be forever grateful to my parents for allowing us to be children while we were children. Those summer days were precious, rare and priceless.
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