"Rock Land"

A Childhood Memory

Ever notice how a hot summer day feels so much hotter when you're a grownup? I know, hot is hot, no matter how old you are —it's all the same heat. I just don’t remember heat bothering me when I was a child in the 50s and 60s. To a kid, summer was exactly the way summer was supposed to be.

A hot summer day wasn’t a big deal, because there were so many things to do that kept me busy and they were always more important than a few beads of sweat on my face. Back then, heat wasn’t even a minor irritation. Mosquitoes were, and sunburns and poison ivy, but never a hot summer day.

I loved when Mama and Daddy needed some alone time without the six of us tagging along. That’s when they drove us to Grampa and Gramma’s cottage on the river a few weekends every summer.

It was a ten-mile drive from our house to theirs and the whole way there, my sibs and I planned our weekend. We would skip stones on the water, probably do some fishing, and both days we would definitely climb to a special place we loved more than anything. We just called it 'Rock Land'.

I'll tell you about it, but first, I want to draw you a clear mind picture of where it was. Gramma and Grampa’s cottage was tucked in at the bottom of a humongous hill just above the river and dusty unpaved road that snuggled up next to it. ‘Rock Land’ was way up that hill behind their cottage.

We had to climb up almost to the top to get to ‘Rock Land’. The hill was nearly straight up and covered with huge trees and house-size boulders, rocks for climbing, and grape vines hung from trees for us to swing on. There were even natural caves under some of the boulders.

‘Rock Land’ was perfect for pretending. We could be Indians hiding in the caves and my brothers were Daniel Boone and Jim Bowie hunting for deer and bears. Other times, it was our jungle and we took turns being Tarzan, or Jane.

We especially loved the thick grapevines that hung down from the trees over us. There was no greater thrill than climbing to the top of a boulder, grabbing a vine with both hands, swinging out over the hill below and giving the Tarzan yodel.

As an adult, I’d say that was dangerous and ill advised, but as I remember, we only ever had one accident. That was when my cousin, Bill, swung out on a vine right into a hornet's nest and they swarmed --we all learned first-hand what 'mad as a hornet’ really means.

To make matters worse, when the hornets started to sting him all over, he promptly let go of the vine. He was so high up that when he dropped to the ground, he broke his arm.

Yeah, summer is hot, no matter how old you are —it’s supposed to be. But when you're a kid and it’s summer, school is out, and there are a million and one fun things to do, hot is a non-issue. It just doesn’t matter.

You’re just glad to be alive ...

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