Summer.
The season of smiles, sunshine and being outdoors -- especially in Oregon. And it's becoming more evident in my yard with blooming rhododendrons, geraniums and daisies.
School's out and kids are everywhere. On bikes, walking along the street in twos and threes, and shooting basketballs through curbside hoops. All of this got me thinking . . . mostly about the summers of my youth. How long ago, but yet so near in my mind.
When I was 10, growing up in Los Angeles, kids seemed to have the run of the neighborhood. Mom would shoo us out the door in the mornings and off we'd go . . . sometimes across the street to watch Billy's backyard rabbits or chickens, or to explore the vacant lot a few doors down, or to hang out until our neighbor George the Iceman got home and we could purloin a few ice shards from the back of his truck. How refreshing on a hot afternoon.
Some days, I'd cut through the alley to Grandma and Grandpa's house three blocks away to be rewarded with a frosty glass of lemonade.
A year or so later, the folks moved 15 miles closer to the beach . . . to Torrance. A typical southern California suburb in many ways, but a place that broadened my teenage horizons. New friends, playing baseball, a 10-speed bicycle, new schools, summers at the beach . . . and surfing.
Dad always had a long list of chores for brother John and me, mostly of the yard work variety like mowing, edging, trimming, weeding, etc. That made my free time all the sweeter.
These years later, it's the simple things I recall with the greatest fondness. Like those dawn walks to the beach, barefooted and balancing a surfboard atop my head. The orange sun rising, warming the cool ocean breeze. The smell of morning dew, salty sea air, and new-mown grass. And the anticipation of paddling into the glassy Pacific Ocean. What times.
I hope those kids outside are having that much fun
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