Empty Days of Summer

  It is only July 24th and already the empty days of summer have arrived. The 4th of July cookouts are long over and vacations are coming to an end for many families. The town streets are empty. Garage sales are unattended. The annual family reunions are endured for another year. The anticipation of summer events is over. TV ads already sell school supplies and football practice has begun.
  I remember these days as a kid. Weather was hot and humid as July slipped into August. Our annual trip to Grandmothers home at Burning Fork, Kentucky was only a bittersweet memory of days playing with cousins and visiting great aunts and uncles that I now wish I had known better. Aunt Sula lived in  a gray weather worn home with a front porch draped with drying beans and blue morning glories. She said we were a pretty bunch of children. Aunt Lula came out to see us in the car. Back then, people were allowed to leave their kids in a hot car. I guess they weren't afraid 7 grouchy, sweaty kids would be kidnapped. Lulas home was in a town and she had a picket fence with a wire gate. Her husbands name was Green. Fascinating to a young girl. On the trips that I remember, Mother and Daddy took us on day trips to the old places dear to them. For Daddy, that was Bull Creek on KY Rt 7 past Gunlock post office. The Ford station wagon dragged bottom to travel the dry creek bed used as a road. All that was left of my Dads home was a black barn in an over grown field and the family house remodeled and occupied by Clarence Shepherd. My dad pointed to memories grown up in scrub and weeds.
  Those vacations were  also filled with family photos, plenty of balloons to play with (my mom and dad worked at Pioneer Rubber Co.) and trips to Salyersville to the Dollar Store. One summer we went to bible school with Kathy Marshall and made popsicle stick picture frames. Kathy lived farther up the road from Grandmother and Callie with her brother Ricky and parents, Carl and Ruby. Carl knew enough stories to compete with my dad. Ruby's name suited her persona. She wore rich red on lips that were full  and usually held a cigarette. Her vibrant nature was evident in her laughter and her actions. They came to visit often, especially at breakfast time. Grandmother put everything on  the table for breakfast and there was plenty for everyone. During the day while we played, Dad and Callie sat in the green metal lawn chairs under the giant shade trees passing the time and throwing up a hand to passers by. Occasionally someone stopped and set a spell. They talked of relations and the old days and people in common.
  As a teenager, I worked at the Celeryville muck farms and did not have much free time to worry about empty days but they still crept up in different ways. Friends at work had to return to college or the boys had to start football practice. Summer romances and friendships came to an aching end with promises of next year. Town streets were alone as families made the last trips to the lake. We woke up hot and sticky and often stayed that way during the night. At home on the family farm, it was time to can green beans by the bushel and husk endless ears of corn for the freezer. Our garden provided for us then. The wheat was combined off leaving straw to make the square bales  that had to be thrown on the wagon for the barn. THAT was always the hottest day of August and most of the straw went down my bra to scratch my dripping wet skin. We had a lot of chores to do even after working all day.
  The days passed slowly then suddenly it was time for school and new clothes and a perm. I would have benefitted from that short hair more throughout the summer days. Glad we now have hair bands for the long hair.
  Now , having learned to relax a little, Gary and I sit on the front porch listening to Merle and JT and Seven Bridges Road and the cicadas call and then a quick thunder storm. We hear thunder in the distance again as slight showers hit the hosta leaves along the front. We contemplate how to end the constant yapping of the neighbors lonely dog missing his owner. Sweet scent of the stargazers and sweet williams becomes overwhelming as the dampness stirs them up. Lots of drivers see us here and wave. We don't know anyone anymore. Used to be that we knew everyone up and down the road. Not even names on the mailboxes now. New neighbors come without children or memorable names or faces who stay private in their lives.
   We are comfortable together and realize that quiet and rest on a summers day is okay.