Summertime

“Summertime and the livin’ is easy. Fish are jumping and the cotton is high….”

Well pholks, the livin’ used to be easier, some fish may be jumping for those who care and have money for a license and the cotton is high in some places where is was planted in time and there is enough water.

George Gershwin certainly had a feel for the season and the images his classic song paints are unforgettable, indeed. Especially for us older pholks.

I love summer, of course, but it certainly is a lot different when a person gets older. I still think about all the great times I had as a kid, swimming in the river practically every day, flirting with the girls I thought were 10s, being flirted with by girls who were not quite 10s and trying to earn some money for school.

Growing up in the county and having my own car, a ‘53 Chevy, two-door BelAir hardtop, a  gift for my 16^th  birthday which fell on the last day of school, provided me with hundreds of hours of easy livin’ for several unforgettable summers. Cruising the country roads, occasionally “borrowing” a few perfect peaches, listening to Danny and the Juniors, Brenda Lee, The Four Seasons, Little Richard, and Fats Domino and generally hanging out made for great summer times. Windows down on a two-door hardtop on a summer evening back then was far greater than air conditioned in a buttoned up new car.

Heading into town, which was Oakdale, Sonora or Modesto, in search of excitement, was sometimes the highlight of the week, depending, of course, on what else was going on. Gasoline was somewhere in the neighborhood of 35 to 45 cents per gallon, but still a consideration. Chipping in for the gas was a common practice, even for the guys who have nice new cars.

When a guy turned 16 he was able to ride on the community fire truck, a volunteer department consisted of who was available. If you were at the local swimming hole, either the Big Hole, the Little Hole, or under the covered bridge, you always took shoes or boots and a pair of jeans in case the fire siren went off and you were able to climb on the truck or follow it to a fire. Fighting range land fires was hard work. The pay was not much but the obligation to battle the fire was important. It was a neighbor helping neighbor thing and you ran to help because the next blaze might be on your land. All this was part of summer time.

Turning 18 meant being able to work at an area cannery if you could land a job, get some good hours, even the graveyard shift. Those jobs, which generated a few good stories, in addition to some long boring hours also generated a good portion of my college costs. However, I am sure some of the fun pranks and spontaneous adventures in those jobs certainly could not occur today. The graveyard shift really was better in some ways. Swimming in the afternoon and relaxing for a little while in the early evening fit in pretty good with the lifestyle of a young man. Not having to get up real early and find a few nap hours before the evening took care of the need to sleep and rest, some days, of course, those hours weren’t really enough.

Anyhow, pholks, this Thursday, June 21, is the first official day of Summer, which is the longest day and the shortest night of the year in North America.

I remember the hot days but really don’t recall paying close attention to forecast. Today I make a point to catch the TV, radio or newspaper weather forecasts to try and figure out how much I will have to suffer before switching on the cooler and spending far too much money. I smile at 95 degrees and wince at 100 or more.

I don’t have my ‘53 Chevy and my car is a van, not a two-door hardtop and I’m not looking for any of my buds to go cruising.

But if Kathy isn’t busy and there “ain’t” anything on TV we haven’t already seen and nothing else comes up, we might take a spin on a local country road, maybe up to Three Rivers and “borrow” some peach ice cream for a couple of bucks…

Miles can be reached at mshuper@valleyvoicenewspaper.com