I grew up in a tiny town on the Mississippi River. We had a pump (left over from the "olden days") out on the street. We'd go to the one store in town and buy a package of balloons. We would pump cold water in and throw them at each other to cool off. It was much cooler at the river's edge, so we'd stand down there and skip rocks across the surface. The kid whose rock skipped the most times before sinking, won.
We had to stay within "hollering" distance of our parents when they wanted us to come in for a meal or for the night. I rode my bike everywhere. We climbed the hills and pretended we were the early explorers. We had no T-ball or Little League; we just played baseball. One dad would drive all of us 20 miles away to the nearest pool for swimming lessons. We had Bible school where we brought our own lunches in lunch boxes (the only time of the year I got summer sausage, and milk in a paper carton). We had no sprinklers, but we had garden hoses.
We waved as the Delta Queen Riverboat went by playing its calliope music going up or down the Mississippi. We stood and waved at the train engineer as the train went by, and at the guy leaning out the door of the caboose. We had weenie roasts and made s’mores, and drew hopscotch with chalk. And we played hide-and-go-seek. It was a safer time, and I wish kids today could experience this! Lisa
There is something so special about those summer memories, the ones that occurred before computers landed in every home and smart phones landed in every hand. The good news is, those days still exist. Sure you have to pry your family away from status updates but when you do, the slightly smoky, gooey bonfire s’more will be oh so worth it.