Now in my 80s and having long since passed the crest of the hill, I find myself drifting back in thought to my days growing up in Jackson, New Jersey, in the late ’40s and ’50s. I still recall getting off the school bus on a perfect June day. With books and school clothes quickly put away, it didn’t take long putting my old Schwinn bicycle to good use.
During the months of July and August if we were in for a really hot day, I remember those ubiquitous locusts (we always called the hot-birds) giving us advanced warning with their noisy unrelenting trill that we were in for a real scorcher. All of which would invariably lead my mother to say, “It’s going to be a barnburner today.”
I recollect my first job as a kid was picking strawberries at one of the local farms that didn’t end well. Because of my propensity to eat more than I picked, I remember being informed the next day that my services were no longer required and my employment was unceremoniously terminated.
I also remember back then, daisies and black-eyed Susans seemed to be everywhere, and many of our roads were lined with those magnificent tiger lilies dressed in their hue of orange and black. And was there anything more intoxicating on a June night than the scent of wild honeysuckle on the night air?
At dusk, we would be entertained by nature’s electric company-lightning bugs, which set both fields and woods aglow on those warm summer evenings. With mason jars in hand, it was “game on” to see who could catch the most, only to release them a short time later unharmed.
During those days, it seemed there was always someone in their backyard cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. The fun really started, however, when the watermelon was brought out. Things quickly deteriorated into a watermelon seed-spitting contest — who could spit the seeds the farthest. It’s hard to convey to the uninitiated, the pride and prestige attached to being recognized by your peers as the best!
When occasionally we overindulged with the tasty baked beans, it sometimes led to some unpleasant after-effects. We even managed to turn that into a contest, which usually resulted in inextinguishable laughter, at least among the participants. Let’s just say we didn’t make our mothers proud.
Nightfall also awakened our neighborhood symphony — crickets! Competition for the night stage was intense. Of all the nocturnal performers, however, I think the katydids with their continuous unbroken night song on those long hot summer nights wins hands down. To me, a summer night wouldn’t be the same without them.
Unfortunately, my youthful exuberance and contest days have long since passed and now remain just a pleasant and delightful memory of a bygone time.
Borden Applegate (ret.)
Jacksonville Beach
