Summers ago as a child--long before summer became tainted with high school boys and jeep rides--I remember spending the dog days in Utah's dry heat at my community swimming pool. My skin would brown like toast, my stellar underwater handstands (hands up, stands up) would outlast my friends, and I'd snack on a bagel cream cheese shmear from the concession stand and frozen grapes brought from home. Me and my wet friends would dry off in the breeze and hot sun, sitting in the back of my dad's pickup as he drove us all home. By the end of the summer, my swimming suit was saturated with a permanent stench of chlorine no matter how many times it ran through my mother's washing machine cycle.
Thirty years from now, my kids won't be talking about their cherished memories of the Summer 2012. They're too young to remember much of the life they will have spent here in our little mint green home. As their mother, summoning up those memories for them will be my responsibility. Photographs must do their job to help me tell their stories:
I will tell them of walks to the duck pond up the street, a sack of dried white sandwich bread in hand, to not only feed a family of ducks, but the catfish and turtles as well.
I'll describe our backyard--a critter wonderland--and explain how we'd catch and release the frogs jumping in our lawn and when we kept long green caterpillars hostage in mason jars with punctured lids.
I'll think of all the rows of blueberry bushes growing on the wayside of the Connecticut River; filling our pail and filling their tummies during an impromptu game of hide-and-go-seek.
I tell them of all the summer festivals and local events that we were able to attend--while their admission was still free: Quechee Balloon Festival, Norwich Fair, WRJ Glory Days Festival, Lebanon Coop Dairy Days, and the local farmers' market.
Did I miss anything? Probably. We tried to make Saturdays more enjoyable than a day of mowing the lawn and scouring the house clean.
And we can't forget our outing to our local theme park that tries very hard to be Disney: Story Land. Deep-friend Oreos and riding the train was enough to make all of our eyes pop out.
I'll pull out the bright orange Home Depot apron and say, "Hey, can you believe that this used to fit around your waist?" and explain how hard they worked on once-a-month building projects.
I will tell them of weekly visits to the library story hour. I'll tell them of their fondness for Mrs. Frappier at the "Reading Room" and how she'd always have clever crafts to tie in with the story she read aloud.
What fun we had meeting up with friends at the park, swimming at the pond or at the dam, canoeing on the Connecticut, feeding fish at the hatchery, petting farm animals, riding bikes in our driveway, counting down the days to reunite with family they barely got to see.
Our summer was not too full, not too boring...it was just right.
My heart might be getting sick typing out all these memories. Nostalgia for childhood always gets my nose hurting. I don't like wanting the feeling to chase after the past, yet those dimpled faces, chubby cheeks, sticky hands, girly squeals, and evenly spaced out teeth that appear as miniature chicklets encourage me that they will stay just a wee longer. As long they run downstairs to the master bedroom to climb into bed for early morning cuddles, they're still little ones to me. They won't remember how small they used to be, but I will. Oh,
yes I will. I will cling to it like any parent would. In another thirty years, it will seem like another lifetime.
I'll try not to start thinking about
that. Enough nostalgia for one day.
