“In Summer the song sings itself”: William Carlos Williams
AT 9 – CAMP
Laying on the slightly grown grass – or weeds – or whatever. Watching the clouds lazily drift over or under each other.
The smell of barbecue chicken or hot dogs or hamburgers on the grill. Corn on the cob, slathered in butter. Fresh tomatoes from Uncle Stanley’s garden. Strawberry shortcake.
Jumping off the dock into the river, as far as we could go, Daring boat rides across the Channel, returning from fishing or a picnic on the Canadian side.
Lazy, lingering days, doing nothing. Dusk comes, to catch fireflies, sing around the campfire, watch the sunset.
Hot, humid nights, trying to sleep, trying to catch a bit of breeze.
Birds and crickets chirping love songs. Fish dancing with joy. Anticipation of THE WEDDING in August. Sitting on the dock recording all the recipes of Grandma and Momma, even though not knowing how to cook! Writing down notes and lists of what to do to be a good wife.
Showers, trousseaus, fittings for THE GOWN, planning the trappings of the day. Filtering out the the treasures of my youth, packing boxes to be transported to a new State, a new adventure, a new life.
THE WEDDING – a rainy day but a rainbow at the end
THE HONEYMOON – rainy days, but who cared
THE MOVE – rainy day on the last day of summer, lightning and thunder accompanying us on our journey.
AT 29 – CAMP
Packing up the little ones, all five. Usually a dog and/or a cat, one time a hamster, into a beat-up Country Squire station wagon for two months at the River. Hoping we would survive from the car breaking down, or the parents breaking down from hearing all the verses of 100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall! A long seven hours, but then the view of the Bridge. CAMP. Thus planting the seeds and nurturing the memories of our sanctuary.
AT 49 – A NEW CAMP
Finally alone, just the two of us. Cruses, travels, new adventures, and a new camp in the woods where children and grandchildren could visit – but go home.
AT 59-79 – THE FALLOW YEARS
Crises, broken dreams, death, transitions, sadnes
AT 79 -CAMP AGAIN
Alone, but not lonely. Lazy summer days, unaccountable to anyone but oneself, projects to be done or not done as seen fit, reading all night if that is the wont, visited by children and grandchidren – and the memory of those long gone who filled my summers with love and joy,