Is It Summer Yet?
Technically, the first day of summer isn’t until June 21. But who really thinks of June as a spring month? My blogger friend, Fragments Fred, recently asked his readers, “When Do You Know It’s Summer?” Although, my childhood is the source of my most vivid summer memories, some are continuous and transcend time and age…
I seem to know summer through my bare feet. As a girl, I remember how they hurt, walking on our long gravel drive-way. It didn’t occur to me to put shoes on in June. And if I had, how would my feet ever have gotten tough enough to withstand the rest of the summer?
Growing up on a peninsula in Hull, Massachusetts, my whole body was immersed in water for most of the summer. My feet would flap like flippers through the cool dark liquid bay, while I imagined I was a seal or a mermaid. I recall the feeling of sand through my toes and the sticky residue of dried salt water on my body and in my hair. I can still remember my revelation when, as a young girl, I licked my own skin and tasted the ocean.
Summertime meant being outside at night, something that didn’t happen much when the weather was colder. Feeling as though I was a character from the storybook “Where the Wild Things Are,” I played flashlight tag and relieve-o with my 8 siblings. We lived close enough to our neighborhood friends to call out for them to join in. Although, I was hardly ever alone, when I was, I marveled at the stars, moon-shadows, and the fireflies that lit up the night. I remember the dew drenched grass on my feet and then, because it was dark, stepping on something sharp. I probably screamed louder than I needed to, because howling at night somehow seemed normal.
My feet knew the paths to all my friend’s houses. There were back yard shortcuts to all the best places. Braving the sticker burrs and overgrown fields, we foraged for wild food because our appetites were fierce in summer. We put sugar on everything back then, the mashed up wild blackberries, and the sour rhubarb-like fruit that we called bamboo. I even knew which flowers tasted good (purple crown vetch), but I didn’t tell anyone that I ate flowers.
I often walked barefoot on the paved road to Hull village, just outside our own Stony Beach neighborhood, because the playground was in the village and there was a larger pool of friends to play with there. It was less than a mile, but seemed longer on foot, and sometimes the pavement was too hot. Sometimes the tar would melt into a soup and I would poke it with a stick.
It was safe to roam the whole of our small town, to run down hills and on the granite boulder seawall, to pedal bicycles, jump from swings, and climb trees. In the summer our feet barely ever felt linoleum or carpet. The cuts and bruises and the splinters they endured was a small price to pay for our summer freedom.
My Irish ancestors were a poor and rural people who often wore no shoes. Is that why I feel more myself when I’m barefoot? Perhaps the reason I chose to live in the country, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, is because being barefoot fits the country lifestyle, and I learned as child that I was an extension of nature, meant to feel the earth beneath my feet.
But My 4th grade school teacher, Mrs. Neville, didn’t understand that. She scolded me for taking my shoes off under my desk. It was probably late May and almost summer. What did she expect? Even if she could have managed to get my mind on long division, my feet had another agenda. They knew something much better.
Feel free to share what makes summer for you?
June 10th, 2005 10:01 am
Let’s see – heat, humidity and hurricanes. Ah, summer in Florida.
Hi Colleen – Michele sent me. Lovely story. I’m going to poke around a bit if you don’t mind.
June 10th, 2005 10:15 am
Ah. A foot meme! Had almost forgotten about hot pavement, melted asphalt and splinters. I can barely stand to step out onto our paver-walkway my tootsies have gotten so wimpy-soft. I used to wear moccasins of callus and could run on gravel, barefoot.
Meant to tell you: our blogger visitors from California who had lunch with Doug and me at OF last week had a good friend from Hull.
June 10th, 2005 10:16 am
wow what a great post…i felt like i was right there with you…
i loved summer…the smells of summer…that is what i remember…the warm air that carried the scent of honeysuckle…freshly cut grass…the summer rains…i could go on and on 🙂
my dad was born and raised in big stone gap virginia….but he and my mom decided to raise us in east tennessee…there is no place like home…especially in the summer!
June 10th, 2005 3:45 pm
Hello Michele sent me.
Summer to me is running through the sprinkler.
June 10th, 2005 3:53 pm
When I was growing up, bare feet definitely meant summer. In Houston, it was warm enough for bare feet most of the year, but they were a no-no at school. My first year of college, still in Houston, I went barefoot on campus (unless it was raining) until late October.
Then I moved to Rhode Island, where I learned a new appreciation for shoes.
Summer in Seattle? Soft, warm evenings that seem to last forever… we’re almost there.
June 10th, 2005 3:54 pm
So happy dreaming of summer that I forgot to mention I’m here from Michele’s.
June 10th, 2005 4:44 pm
A very great post. Brings back memories long forgotten. Thanks for sharing and for writing a nice post.
June 10th, 2005 5:55 pm
I wrote about this yesterday – but I neglected to mention that I too, spent the summers barefoot, even walking on sidewalks in the blazing sun. My feet were as tough as shoe leather by August.
I love the way you write, Colleen.
June 10th, 2005 7:22 pm
Michele sent me back.
June 10th, 2005 7:25 pm
I wrote on my blog that Summer is here today (or maybe yesterday) I had to buy new shorts, that did it for me.
June 11th, 2005 3:12 am
I’ve always been a barefoot kind of person myself, but after I finished college I gave up most of my barefoot ways, most not all.
My birthday has always meant summer to me, being that it is on the last day of spring and for most of life this has been fairly accurate timing in terms of weather and school schedules. But now that I’m living in warmer climes and school gets out earlier then it did when I was a young, I may need to find a new symbol to hold on to.
June 11th, 2005 6:36 am
Blind man’s bluff, kick the can & definitely relevio all remind me of my childhood summers! Also it wouldn’t be summer without watermelon and corn on the cob.
June 11th, 2005 11:05 am
Hi Trish! Michele sent me. Summer to me is being able to bask in the sunlight and hit the pool. Typically, a Nebraskan summer finds us in 90 – 100 degree days, but unfortunately, we have no ocean. What is up with that??
June 11th, 2005 11:09 am
Summer is walking on the yellow line on country roads because the black tar would take your skin off.
Summer is cicadas fleeing up the railroad track you are scaling for miles.
Summer is early morning fog burning off, and late afternoon scent of dry pine needles.
Summer is a kid thing, no matter what your age.
Michele brought me here and I’m grateful – this is a wonderful post, and you are an amazing writer.
Thanks,
mw
June 11th, 2005 11:22 am
What a wonderful post. I would love to have those memories of summers gone by!
I’m a pretty simple gal. Summer for me starts with spring. Watching things turn from dead brown to green, seeing flowers bud and bloom, listening to birds chirping and finding baby birds learning to fly in my backyard. The smell of fresh cut grass, the smell of rain on said grass. Shorts. Flip-flops. Tank tops. Sun so bright everything is tainted a bright yellow. Lightening bugs. Watching my girls swing on the swingset, their hair swirling behind them as they swing higher and higher.
I love summer!
June 11th, 2005 10:36 pm
A trip to the ocean. I try to go every year.
We always went once a year as kids, too. I just LOVE the ocean.
June 12th, 2005 4:55 pm
Memorial Day weekend, the end of the school year, putting up berries, and getting out the ice chests to put in the truck, ready for groceries on a hot trip back from the store or an afternoon at the lake.
Mrs. Neville was definitely not one of my Neville ancestors. I come from a long line of barefooters.