Seasons of life

 A bowl of Quaker oats on a cold winter morning and mom putting a second layer of clothes on us as she scurried around looking for one more mitten lost somewhere in the pile of jackets, leggings, and hats. Found it, she yelled as we let the door close behind us on our way to the shed and our sleds. It was the first big snowfall of winter 1960, and we didn't want to miss a second. We reached the park as many kids did that cold morning in December, climbing up the hill to the top, where we caught our breath before speeding down the hill at breakneck speeds, coming to a stop at the edge of the park, ready to go again. Some older kids were having a snowball fight, and if you weren't vigilant, you'd get hit, and believe me, it hurt. Other older kids were hitching rides, holding on to a car's rear bumper as they skated without skates, only letting go when the car slowed down and the driver shouting for them to get off. Every year

A firetruck flooded a section of the ice rink in another part of the park. By tomorrow, the water would be six inches of solid ice. We laced up our skates and went around and around the rink, trying to avoid the human chains and other things the older kids tried to make us crash. After a while, they stayed to themselves, playing hockey at one end of the rink, and left us alone in our section, free of any abuse.

After supper, with homework finished, if Dad was in a good mood, he told us to lace up. We were going night skating. Mom was first out of the door, her skates slung over her shoulder as Dad hurried us along. The lights in the park were also used for night baseball games in the summer, and the park ranger, Mr. Brownly, was in charge of turning them on and shutting them off as long as the rink remained open for skating, which was usually about April but sometimes longer. If he determined it wasn't safe to skate, he would rope the rink off, and that was the end of skating until next winter.

Springtime in the park meant baseball season was underway. The groundskeepers planted grass and brought in a few loads of dirt to be turned into the diamond. The bases were set out, and the scoreboard was fitted with fresh paint and new lightbulbs, some of which burned out during the skating season. Our town's little league baseball teams were formed, and practice was three times a week, with Saturday games. Moms, dads, and siblings filled the bleachers on game day, cheering on their teams as a vendor walked up and down, hawking peanuts and cold drinks, but the real treats were the hotdog vendors who set up their small trailers behind the bleachers. The smell enticed everyone. Summer brought the heat and the long baseball season, with teams being eliminated and the best two going to the playoffs. That was a night game under the lights on a Saturday night. Those hot, steamy summer nights with ladies and colorful fans and men in sweat-stained t-shirts barking orders to their sons to the dismay of the umpires. The winners got a trophy and a place in the town newspaper, while the losing team vowed, they would win next year.

Summer in the park brought with it sunbathers and the sounds of transistor radios blaring out the latest hits. Coolers filled with pops, snacks, and some beer, being careful to avoid getting caught by the park rangers always looking for something. The fountain in the middle of the park was big, with water gushing from an underground spring. It was the perfect place to cool off, and as long as you behaved, the rangers left you alone. Summer nights under the stars was a Friday tradition where blankets were spread out and lawn chairs set up to listen to the music of the town bands. People roamed around, stopping to chat with a friend or neighbor until kids were falling asleep on the blankets, and soon, the night was over until the next time. The fourth of July brought backyard picnics, the smell of hotdogs and burgers filling the air like a comforting blanket, and boxes of fireworks magically appearing from the garage where Dad had hidden them like he did every year. At almost nine o'clock, the city fireworks display lit up the sky with all the colors of a rainbow, and the BOOM that followed scared the little kids into their mother's arms.

Summer gave way to autumn and the dazzling display of colored leaves, pumpkin patches, and cider. Wed rake the leaves into giant piles, then run and crash into the piles time and again, each better than before. Autumn also brought the Fall festival and parade with cars, trucks, and even tractors all decorated with colored leaves and corn husks. Pumpkins competing in the pumpkin contest were placed on a flatbed, and everyone got to vote as they passed by. The louder the applause, the more votes it received.

Autumn also meant Halloween, a time for store-bought costumes and, some made by moms. Yards were decorated with scary ghosts and goblins, and on the front steps, a carved pumpkin or two, depending on how many kids lived there. Pillowcases were filled with an assortment of candy and treats like popcorn and candy apples. Some people even handed out shiny new dimes. Back at the house, Mom would make piles of what we could have and others with things we couldn't have. All the hard candies were put in a pile for Mom and Dad as they didn't want us chipping a tooth or getting a piece stuck in our throats. Last Halloween, my next-door neighbor, who was seven at the time, choked on hard candy, and his mom had to pour warm water down his throat to melt the candy, allowing him to cough it up. Autumn ended with Thanksgiving as family and friends gathered at grandma's house and a meal fit for a king. Grandpa had passed five years ago, so we had to settle for a store-bought turkey instead of a live one he hunted for every year. I'll never forget the family traditions of letting the oldest child carve the turkey and the girls helping in the kitchen, learning the secrets of the best-mashed potatoes and pumpkin pies. Days of cooking are gone in minutes as stuffed bellies find a place to rest, usually in front of the television and a football game or two. Leftovers were wrapped in foil, and everyone got to take some home, which meant the same dinner the next day, and that was fine with us.

Winter followed, and that meant Christmas was just around the corner. If the weather cooperated, we'd have snow, which meant sledding and skating on that frozen ice rink and sliding down the big hill time and time again until we had to go home and warm up with a bowl of hot soup Mom had waiting. It also meant finding the perfect Christmas tree in the country on a Sunday after church. Wed load up in the station wagon and sing Christmas songs all the way there. The Christmas tree farm was huge, with pathways to see the trees without damaging them. Once the perfect tree was found and we all agreed, Dad swung the axe and fell the tree, thinking he was Daniel Boone. We dragged the tree to the car, and Dad tied it on the roof, still pleased with himself over cutting down the tree with only three whacks of the axe. On the way back home, we stopped at a little diner and had hot chocolate, and Mom forced herself to stop wiping our mouths covered in whipped cream. Back home, Dad took the tree inside and into a stand. Tomorrow when the tree branches fell into place, we decorated it with strands of lights and ornaments we had made at school over the tears. I remember we had the idea of stringing popcorn around the tree one year, which turned out to be much harder than we thought. We didn't do that again. We learned as youngsters to save our money, which we earned by doing odd jobs for neighbors, cutting grass in the summer months, and shoveling snow in the winter. Lemonade stands and washing cars were just a few things we did to make some Christmas money. When it became time to buy gifts, we had enough of that saved money to buy a nice present for everyone in the family.

And that, my friends, was the year 1960 in seasons. I remember many more seasons spent with loved ones and friends, and I could write about every one of them. The joys and happiness, the loss of loved ones, and the births of new family members. Life does go in circles, and lucky are we to remember each and every one.

Mike 2024