After dinner one Sunday at my parent’s house, someone pulls out a stack of old photos. Sudden gasps and bursts of laughter arise in every corner of the room as we dig through the snapshots of memories. With another generation of children growing, there are new semblances to find among the baby faces of the past. I come across one old photo and hail its discovery with delight. Glancing over to see for herself, my sister exclaims,“I knew Grace would love that picture!” The old photo shows me crouching in between my brothers on a wooden dock, ready to leap into the lake water. Heaps of memories rush into my mind as I stare at the photo: old fashioned candy scooped into brown paper bags, catching minnows with dollar store nets, my Papa proudly passing out goody bags patterned with red and white Maple Leaves. I can almost smell the nostalgic scent of my Mimi’s basement cellar, where there was always cold root beer and freezie pops. The melodies of the beloved folk music CD we played on rides to and from the lake ring clearly in my ears.
Every summer when I was a kid, we packed up our suburban and made the long trip to the middle of nowhere in Ontario, Canada to stay with my grandparents for a few weeks. Their home was not the white picket fence abode you might picture for two darling elderlies as themselves. In fact, their home was not even technically their own. Years earlier, when their youngest (my mom), graduated high school, they embarked on a journey of chosen poverty. As third order Franciscans, they felt called to give away the majority of their possessions and live off God’s providence. Sounds a little crazy, right? Many people thought so too. But this wasn’t just an impulsive urge to chase holiness, but a serious choice, a calling they couldn’t ignore. It took great time and discernment to begin. I have heard them tell this story many a day, yet I still gape in disbelief when I consider their level of detachment. And as someone who has known them since they left this lifestyle, I can only attest that their surrender has brought countless souls closer to God.
After years of living in commited poverty, they found themselves at a small parish rectory in South Algonquin, Ontario. Rising in strong white stone, the adjacent church sits atop a hill, with gravel parking lots on both levels. Topped with a minty green roof, the rectory stands nestled to the right of the church, with a foyer connecting the two buildings. Simple in style, with humble yet homey features, my grandparent’s atypical dwelling held a special magic for myself and my siblings. Our days here were filled with regular outings to neighboring lakes, bike rides up and down the hill, meals in the cozy wooden booth next to the kitchen and the smell of my Papa’s cigars. As Catholic kids, the opportunity to spend our summers living in the same building as a church held a fascination mixed with reverence and novelty. We literally lived next door to Jesus. Despite its humble features, my grandparents’ home felt like a kind of Narnian paradise to us. While there was no magic wardrobe or talking animals, something yet more miraculous resided in our midst.
Memories of childhood summers hold so much of the brightness of life in them. They beckon thoughts back to a time when living was light and imagination alive with the miracle of life. While years of distance separate me now, whenever I look back at who I was then, I can see the delicate seedlings of future growth. The little girl scribbling in her bejeweled diary and falling in love with Anne of Green Gables is still the same woman writing to you now and rereading those beloved novels.
Witnessing my own children begin to enjoy summer memories is like a mysterious time portal that helps me better remember my own. Glimpsing the look of wonder on my daughter’s face as she gazes at the seagulls flying overhead reminds me of the thrill of leaping off a rope swing into a lake or racing down the hill on my bicycle. Sometimes I wish I could catch that feeling of freedom like a firefly in a mason jar and relive it once again. This freedom was always the best part of summer. The freedom to uncover unknown pleasures and new secrets, to relish the feeling of having nowhere to be, but everything to do. Summer is about discovery, encounter, growth that happens naturally. And this is the kind of summer that I want for my children, but also for myself.
Recently, our family went on a week-long vacation to the beach. It was a carefree time of rest and renewal for all of us, but especially reminded me that stepping out of our customary routines provides meaningful insight for growth or redirection. I could sense a change even in my two-year-old during our first morning there. She was somehow even more bubbly and adventurous than usual, excited to explore a new setting and cover herself in sand. Her enthusiasm brought me back to my own Canadian summers and the blithe abandon of routine.
A favorite author of mine once wrote that to be creative, you must continuously strive to be the opposite of who you are, not in the sense of going against your values, but of challenging yourself to always look at things differently so as to understand every angle. Placing ourselves in new circumstances and scenes aids this creative outlook. Remembering past summers through fresh eyes is a way of doing this as well. The joy of the past helps us realize the opportunity within the present, renewing our minds with beloved times and reminding us that that the child kicking off their shoes to feel the grass in their toes is still in us and maybe even incarnate in our children.
So, my summer challenge for you, dear reader, is to take a moment to remember a favorite summer setting from your youth. Close your eyes and imagine the scene: the smells, sounds and delights of that time. What do you remember vividly? Who did you adventure with and what memories can you recall? Recognize a side of yourself that you still see today and reflect on the reality of your underlying identity. For the creative writers amongst you, take it to the next level and write a short story inspired by this summer scene. Get nostalgic. Flex your creativity. And let yourself feel some of that schools-out freedom.
Happy Summering!
