My kids were part of the generation that still *went out to play.” We had a brook in the backyard, a treehouse built by my husband, a dog who thought he was a kid and a cat who wanted nothing to do with us. We were privileged to enjoy the lost gift of not being afraid. Nature and neighbors provided a safe environment for growing and understanding life as it was lived in those days.

It was a neighborhood where doors were not often locked. You fed other people’s kids and when one of those kids fell out of a tree or into the brook swinging on a rope, someone was always willing to watch while you took the injured and bloody one to the E.R.

Summer unraveled one day at a time bringing its own games, activities and secret clubs

The little ones splashed around in plastic pools and the hose kept everyone else cool, including the dog.

At the end of summer, we were all exchanging far too many tomatoes and zucchini and secretly counting the days until school started. Everyone had shopped for a new lunchbox, sneakers and trapper keepers. No one shopped for bullet proof backpacks, the lessons of fear had not yet been hammered into our awareness. We still lived in the neighborhood of expected mutual good will and decency. How lovely that was.

Summer rolled on, the kids played long and hard, reluctant to come in even though school started tomorrow. Baths had to be taken and lunches made. Anticipation was mixed with excitement, new teachers, new classmates, new possibilities mixed with a little fear of new experiences. Everyone needed a good night’s sleep.

Moms breathed a sigh of relief as the school buses pulled away and poured a second cup of coffee. There was a wonderful smell of burning leaves in the September air signifying the end of summer.

It was the best of times.

Marcia J. Hill

Ludlow

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