Today I went out for what was supposed to be a short walk. It ended up going much longer than I expected–both distance walked and years traversed.
I live far enough away from where I grew up that the flora and fauna aren’t quite the same, nor is the weather. Today, however, it was similar enough that memories of summers decades past came back to visit me as I walked.
I enjoyed the cool of the shade and the warmth of the sun, reminding me of so many days spent outside. The crickets and cicadas sang to me of late summer, reminding me of the years my parents took us away to the beach. We spent mornings at the beach, building sand castles, flying kites and throwing frisbees, braving cold water that I just knew had sharks. (I wasn’t allowed to see the movie, but I had seen the ads for Jaws.) We enjoyed picnic lunches with Fresca and Hostess Ho Hos (treats only allowed on vacation, never during the school year), and walking into town in the evening for dinner and maybe Dairy Queen.
As I walked further I smelled heated asphalt and warmed pine trees, reminding me of the many summers walking to or from the town library, where I volunteered my summer mornings. The trees at home are long gone, fallen in winter storms or prey to modern landscapers.
Just as I turned back towards home, I saw the back of our local elementary school silhouetted against a beautiful clear sky, with scattered fluffy clouds, and it reminded me of our of my favorite trips abroad, a magical few days in Prague.
A few blocks later, I was pulled down a side street by the sound of someone practicing their bagpipes. There were no old memories to trigger, but I enjoyed listening so much, I hope it will be a new memory for years to come.
Closer to home, I passed a forest of tomatoes, in boxes I saw built this spring, during the height of our stay at home orders (walks for exercise were always allowed, I promise).
Two blocks over, I reviewed the progress of another front yard food garden; I had spoken to the gardener this April, as she pulled out some healthy day lilies to make room for tomatillo plants. I couldn’t see the tomatillos, but I saw some lovely small purple eggplants on the vine, a yellow squash displayed on a bed of leaves, and two ginormous green cabbages which I would be lucky to bring home from the store.
I have such great memories of summers past, triggered by scents and sounds. To best honest, nostalgia aside, the ’70s weren’t all that great. We were still fighting the Cold War, nuclear warfare was something we worried about (it was only 30 years since Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and Salt II wasn’t signed until 1979), we had oil shortages and inflation, and the job market wasn’t always so great. Women were working on equality, but we were well behind where we are now.
I wonder what I will remember about the summer of 2020. Will I remember the pandemic, George Floyd, the BLM movement and discussions on race? Will I remember the masks, and how people fought about science and I couldn’t see my family and friends in real life? Or will I remember staying home most of the time, and learning to see patients from my spare room? Home gardens and appreciating the life we have?
What will you take away from this summer?