- Share This Post
- Pin It
- 0
-
Sparkle (0)
Being back in Texas has brought back a rush of childhood memories. I was born in the town of Corsicana, right up the road from where I’m now staying. We lived there until I was five, then moved to the suburbs of New Orleans. Every summer we returned to the Dallas area to visit first with one set of grandparents and then the other. Dad’s mother raised chickens, rabbits and guinea pigs “for table,” while my mother’s parents kept an acre or so planted each summer with beans and squash, tomatoes and melons. There were always hoards of cousins around to help us pick the most perfect vegetables for each evening’s meal, or to participate in our elaborate attempts to rescue the doomed animals. We ran barefoot down gravel roads each day to the corner market where we spent our pocket change on grape sodas and penny candy. On the way home we usually dawdled a while to admire the sheep grazing around a barn down the street. Sometimes we wandered into the woods to a cattle tank that was rumored to sit over a bottomless spring where children disappeared, never to be seen again. In the evening we filled pickle jars with lightning bugs and scared each other silly with stories inspired by the strange sounds that emanated from the woods and pastures that surrounded us.
We took road trips most summers, too. We traveled throughout the South, staying in motor courts or pitching our leaky old canvas tent at various campgrounds. The best watermelon I ever tasted was icy cold to the core, having chilled for hours wedged between mossy rocks in the mountain stream just steps from our campsite in the Smokey Mountains. We climbed trees, hiked and visited Civil War battlegrounds and obscure little museums. The signs urging us to See Rock City beguiled us and the Burma Shave signs inspired us to make up our own jingles. We sang constantly, everything from gospel and “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” to that summer’s top hits. Puzzles, comic books and paper dolls kept us distracted in the back seat between stops at roadside attractions. Mom bought salt and pepper shakers to help her remember the places we went. Each was carefully wrapped in crinkly tissue before being tucked away between the underwear and socks in the big suitcase that took up half of the car trunk, but, inevitably, some of them didn’t survive the trip.
Our summer fun didn’t end when we got home. We built tree houses and forts, made and flew kites and explored the neighborhood on bikes or roller skates with our friends. We engaged in marathon croquet games at backyard barbecues and picnics that gave us a chance to get together with other families and gave our parents the chance to check out the new kids we were spending time with. We picked peaches and figs from our own trees (or the neighbor’s, when their trees yielded an abundance that invited sharing) and helped Mom makes jams and preserves. We had backyard vegetable gardens most years, too. The adults planted beans and tomatoes while we small folks preferred the more spectacular corn and watermelons. On family game nights we drug out the Monopoly set or a deck of cards and a rack of chips and stayed up late, eating Dagwood sandwiches and popcorn and fancy gelatin desserts made from recipes found in the latest issue of Redbook or Ladies Home Journal. We somehow always managed to squeeze in frequent trips to the library so we could all earn our Summer Reading Certificates.
Don’t let a rotten economy suck the joy out of your summer. You don’t have to spend a fortune on airfare and expensive theme park tickets to enjoy some wholesome family fun. Look to the past for some old fashioned ways to enjoy summer vacation on a lean budget.
Related links
The Juggle (Wall Street Journal Blogs) has some great tips for getting the kids involved in planning and executing your road trip.
Making a kite can be an entertaining experience even if you can't get it to fly!
A self-professed "game geek" talks about games and family game nights.
