I found this image years ago, and I still cherish it. It brings back memories of our friend, an Episcopal priest from the Chicago diocese, who later became a Bishop in Kansas. Before his move, he would baptize the little ones in a bird bath in the church yard, which I also loved. This photo captures a child in a beautiful moment of simply ‘being.’
I assume you remember those carefree childhood summers, just like I do. Back then, summer was truly ours. We weren’t scheduled for lessons or camps, and our days were free of structure. We enjoyed simple pleasures like walking barefoot through the dew-covered grass. We had our favorite shorts and T-shirts, which we wore again as soon as they were clean and back in the drawer. We played games with the neighborhood kids and had tea parties with our dolls under the shade of the massive willow tree in the backyard.
Our days were spent reading books, eagerly listening for the ice cream truck bell, and savoring cold watermelon and corn on the cob. In Evanston, IL, we always looked forward to the 4th of July parade down Central Street and the fireworks at Dyke Stadium, often bundling up in blankets to stay warm against the evening chill.
As an only child, I always knew how to entertain myself—a gift I now embrace again in the Cottage For Two in Nashville, where I run my own railroad. Every summer, no matter how old I get, those long-ago summers fill my heart with a longing to go out barefoot and play. I remember lying on the beach, slathered in baby oil and iodine, turning brown under the sun. The damage to my skin today attests to those carefree days, with the breeze coming off Lake Michigan.
Years later, with children of our own the same age, on vacation, I realized I hadn’t seen my youngest daughter, Elizabeth, for a while. I asked my brother-in-law, Tod, “Have you seen Betsy?”
He replied, “She’s down on the beach, waiting to be discovered.”
To this day, I think there is always a part of us that is still waiting to be discovered? Would you agree?
I am grateful for those childhood days. We rode our bikes without a care, always home by the time the street lights flickered on. We learned to roller skate, scraping our knees with skates strapped to our shoes. The only downside was unintentionally reducing the firefly population, catching too many in jars to watch their tiny lights blink by our bedsides as we fell asleep. I cherish the memory of sitting on the radiator cover my dad built, gazing out the large window onto Asbury Avenue, watching the fairy-like blinking that is no longer possible. On this June 13th, take a moment to remember…..the part of you that is forever young.
Main Street Rocky Mount 
Watching my one and only sibling, an older brother, playing Summer League and Legion Baseball and the sound of the crack of the bats. The aroma of the hot dogs and popcorn and peanuts were smelt the minute you stepped out of mom and dad’s old sedan which I am sure all the houses nearby had that smell drifting through every room in the house all summer long. No matter how hot a summers day got that night at the ballpark there was always a cool breeze blowing through stadium. Oh, how I miss those summer ball game nights, but the memory of my brother is still often imagined walking up to home plate.
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I grew up in Beaufort, NC. On summer nights before it got too hot, my brother and I would sleep with the windows open in our bedroom. We lived in a house that was on a waterfront lot so we could hear the sound of water lapping on the shore. It was a nice sound to fall asleep to.
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