Rise and Shine

I don’t remember most of my childhood in scenes so much as in sensory beats—the particular gold of a June afternoon, the smell of a lawn just mowed, the sound of screen doors slapping shut up and down a street where everyone still knew everyone’s name. But I remember that summer whole, start to finish, the way you remember the one that changes something in you before you’re old enough to realize it’s even happening.

It started, like all the best ones did, with a tree outside my window.

Gina woke up early in the morning, yawned and stretched, then glanced out the window beside her, directly parallel to her bed. Just as she always had when the weather was warm, her mom had left it open a crack to let fresh air inside overnight. She inhaled, taking the early morning air deep into her lungs as she saw the sun shining through the brightly colored leaves of the red maple growing just outside. Its branches delicately touched the window as they swayed in the calm wind of the morning. It was her special tree.

Today, it beckoned her, inviting her to climb into its branches to sit and enjoy the warm breeze and wafting scents of the coming summer—freshly-mowed lawns, the sweetness of blooming lilac, and even the faintest whispers of cow scent riding the gentle wind over from the nearby farm. She never understood why others found that smell unappealing as, to her, it carried peace and comfort along its course. It was home. She had even grown to welcome a musky, subtle smell of skunk spray—or crunched skunk cabbage—from the neighboring woods. It all meant the same thing—summer!

Unfortunately, Gina knew that tree climbing wasn’t what the first part of the day held in store for her. She woke up acutely aware that her mother would call her down to breakfast at any moment, waking her older sister, still asleep on the top bunk. School. One more day of school. Just one more day, she thought.

As if on cue, “Regina! Katie!” came their mother’s voice from the kitchen downstairs. “Are you up? Are you dressed?” They weren’t. Gina’s older sister sat up groggily, rubbed her eyes, and glanced out the window, also taking a quick mental note of the beautiful sunny day. She looked at the clock and sighed.

“Coming, mom!” she belted back and turned to climb the ladder down to the floor. Katie walked over to the pile of clothes their mother had laid out the night before—shirt, shorts, shoes, socks, and underwear—and began to dress while Gina did the same. After quickly brushing their hair and teeth, the two sisters headed downstairs to breakfast. Upon reaching the top stair, Gina glanced at Katie and flashed a quick grin as their eyes met.

“Waterfall!” they shouted and dropped to the floor, sitting on the first of the long, blue, carpeted stairway and allowing themselves to drop step-by-step toward the bottom like a long, bumpy slide. They walked past the front door, through the living room, and into the kitchen, where they plopped down at the table.

Their mother placed plates in front of them, then leaned back against the counter with her coffee.

“Backpacks all packed?”

“Yes,” they said in unison, not entirely truthfully.

“Walking or bikes today?”

“Bikes,” Gina said through a mouthful of toaster strudel.

“Good. And do you want the pool later, or are you two too busy saving the world today?”

Gina and Katie traded a look. “Pool,” they said together, and their mother laughed, already reaching for the sunscreen she kept by the back door.

Upon finishing their breakfast, the girls gathered their backpacks and the carefully selected parting gifts they’d prepared for their teachers, then headed out the door with a hug and a kiss to their mom. Their dad had already left for work, but they knew they’d see him after school. He loved to pass the time in the backyard, grilling steak, hamburgers, or hot dogs and taking in the magic of the coming summer.

Two shiny, new bikes sat parked on the slate patio in the backyard, adorned with several remaining pieces of red, white, and blue-colored stickers and streamer remnants, the remaining physical evidence of the Memorial Day Parade they had recently ridden in. Every year it was quite an event, featuring the school marching band, local scout groups, children pedaling patriotically-decorated bicycles, and a line of local police vehicles and firetrucks from the village, including the local antique engine “Nellie Bell.” For the girls, the highlight was always the opportunity to see the fire department members, but mostly their dad, marching in their dress uniforms. It made them proud to live where they did amidst the safety and security of a small, tightly-knit community.

The bikes called to them, inviting the girls to climb on, pedal out the side gate, and head off to school. They knew they were lucky to live near enough to school to ride their bicycles. There was something beautiful and special about the feeling of the early morning air whipping against their faces as they waved greetings to neighbors going about their daily morning activities. They knew they were fortunate to have such a wonderful neighborhood. Safe. Beautiful. Kind.

More than anything, they felt happy to know that summer was starting. Freedom was within reach! She had no idea yet how much this particular summer would end up mattering.