ABC's ONWARD...

 M = MOUNTAINS  My family did not go to the beach for vacation, nor the amusment park, nor Washington, DC, nor historical landmarks.....we did none of those, instead we headed for the mountains. It's kind of biblical when one thinks about it. 

We headed to Tionesta and spent a week doing serious camping, none of that glam camp fluff and surface stuff for the Snyders.  We hiked a mile over rock strewn terrain into the woods and set-up camp, tents, sleeping bags, fire pit and campfire.  

Years later what remains central in my memories are keeping the pop cold in the sandy bed of the stream underneath the big rock; how we each had our own walking stick crafted by our father; walking with my mother through a meadow strewn full with ferns; the more-than enogh-ness of the vacation; swimming in the Tionesta River; and roasting marshmallows.

There is an art to the well-cooked marshmallow; it is born out of patience in finding the right spot in the red-orange coals and cooking it by slowly turning the stick.  My mother liked her marshmallows with a crispy tan outer crust. I would make her mallows first and then with great pride and immense pleasure seemingly skip to her and present the well-cooked marshmallow made just for her.  Of course, my mother would respond as if being presented with a french pastry from Laduree in Paris. I, in turn, would preen and prance with pride.

N = NIGHT SKY  One of my favorite things in summer is to sit on my gravity chair (one of the grandest inventions of sitting stuff) in full repose and look up at the sky; the lush fullness of the trees and the bright blue of sky at times streaked with splashes of white. Even better is to do so at night. 

Clearly, we've become a very crowded and electronic-addicted lot.  These days it is an effort to find a place where the stars shine brightly and fill the sky.  Yet, any glance and pause toward the night sky is balm and blessing. 

I remember the night sky seen from the fields of my upbringing; the awe of stars stirring the romance on the mountain at Jumonville; and the one-could-stay-for-hours watching the sky over the ocean.  

A member of my Sunday School class sent this photo a photography friend of hers took of the night sky from the beach at the Outer Banks, North Carolina...

O = Old Shoes  The need and the timing intersect.  By summertime, the new pair of sneakers one had for the start of school are now worn and patchy.  Don't toss them!  Keep them on the ready for forays of creek walks and swims. Also, old shoes are such a grand metaphor for summer.....comfortable, broken-in, not a care about style or appearance, just something one can easily slip into and be off to enjoy the day!

Still knowing my ABC'S....

 J = JUMONVILLE  If you've seen the Bill Murray movie MEATBALLS (1979) then the metaphor works, if not seen, well then "It just doesn't matter..." of which the reference will be obvious if you've viewed this film.  All that said, Jumonville, one of the three camps owned and managed by the Western Pennsylvania Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church, in the summer season is a Jesus-y Meatballs.  Staff working at the other two sites referred to Jumonville as the "paved palace." The parents, pastors and campers knew it by the giant white cross on the top of the hill.

I spent two summers working at Jumonville as a camp counselor. Every week from mid-June through early August a new cadre of campers would arrive to spend a week at a camp of their choosing. There were swimming, tennis, soccer, adventure, elementary camping 101 and Jr High WOW week. My role was to make it fun, keep them safe, lead a Bible Study and keep them happy...not that the Bible study often led to moments of deep bliss.

It was a decent summer job with decent pay and the fact that one was paid in one check at the conclusion of the summer made it easy to save for college.

A bunch of college kids spending a summer togeher was a blast, highlighted by weekly Staff Night Out. Always Saturdays... once the campers headed for home we headed for Pittsburgh.

What I remember most about my summers at Jumonville were the deep connections and significant life moments that happened; one of which, for me, was receiving the call to ministry.

 

K = KIDS  Perhaps it is the energy and freedom and openness of children that support the notion that they are seemingly synonymous with the season of summer.  

That, and this allows me the occasion to share the following true encounter of this summer. 

In the South Hills, where I live, the Dormont Pool is a local treasure. Dating back to the 1950's this pool is longer than a football field with a deep end reaching a depth of 9 feet. It is so vast that hundreds of peeople can be at the pool and there is not the all-too-frequent feeling found at far too many public pools of being in a crowded sort of public bathtub.

One recent hot and muggy day, I was at the pool treading in the deep end when a kid approcahed me asking if I wanted to race.  As has been noted previously, I am old, firmly planted in the Maam stage of life so I politely declined. Then he did that kid thing of the obnoxious whine, "Awwwww...come on, race me.  You afraid you'll lose?!!?"  Please note, I did not know this child and he's giving me the trash talk.  Again, I declined.  "Come on," he bellowed, "you chicken? I'll give you a five second head start."

It was at this point that a group of women sitting on the edge of the pool chimed in, "Race him. Do it for womenkind!"  

Both my compettive fire and my feminist edge kicked into high gear.  That and noticing that said child was a bit on the hefty side, I decided to race.

I smoked him, cleaned his clock, left him in my wake.....you get the idea. 

 At one point I glanced over to see him walking! Another time, he had flipped over to do the back stroke. Nearing the end of the fifty yard race, he yelled to me, "You just wanna call it and start over?"  Though starting to tire, I persisted, touched the rope and raised my arms in victory. The women still sitting at the edge of the pool cheered! 

L = LAZY  Summer is the season of hammocks and lawnchairs, beach reads and barbecues. The frenetic pace slows and we have hours of deck time and delight in the bliss of doing nothing. It is glorious!   Ahhh...for it to be more than just a season....