...J...K...L....

J = Jumonville The camp is named for the French general killed by General George Washington’s troops during the French and Indian War. Located on a mountaintop outside of Uniontown in the little town of Hopwood, Jumonville is one of the three church camps run by the Western PA Conference of the United Methodist Church. While in college, I worked two summers there as Program Staff --- a camp counselor. I lead groups through the Ropes Course, whitewater rafted, cooked-out, swam, lead Bible Studies, played endless games of kickball, made crafts (ugh!), and kept the children busy so as not to get homesick. It was here, that I received the call to ordained ministry. Sometimes, I wish the history of the name was a bit more peaceful.

K = Kickball This was the neighborhood game. We played it every day for hours. Looking back it made for a great sociological study. There was the ordering of rules: “Three fouls and you’re out” and to make it official adding, “I called it!” There was learning that strategy and a well-placed ball was far better than kicking it as hard as you could --- mainly because someone who grew tired of chasing the ball across the road declared, “Any ball that goes on the road is an automatic out...I called it!” Of course, there was that horrible act of choosing teams where someone’s self-esteem was always destroyed by the team captain yelling, “We took him yesterday, you have to take him today!”

L = Lemonade It seems almost wrong to drink lemonade anytime other than summer as it is perfectly paired with picnics and cookouts. A lemonade substitute was “Lemon Blend” which came in the gallon jugs and you mixed with water. After helping my father in the garden, we would come inside and he would butter Saltines crackers and we would wash ‘em down with a cold glass of lemonade.

G...H....I...

G = Golf My oldest brother really was into golf. He practiced constantly, had lessons with a golf pro and built his own set of clubs. Being a most generous, big-hearted guy he also built me a set of left-handed clubs and built child-size clubs for our nephews. I practiced with him in our field hitting orange wiffle type golf balls, I went with him to the driving range, and we golfed on the local public course.
I did enjoy it. I wasn’t very good at it, yet, it was fun. Golf is also one of the most frustrating sports ever invented. On one hole, you can drive the ball perfectly, by the wonder of a good gust of wind hit a fine approach shot, and then make your putt. Then sadly that will not occur again for the remaining 17 holes. It’s enough to make one throw their sand wedge (get a good spin on it you can get good distance) and yell toned-down obscenities that make the foursome of little old ladies the next hole over gasp......or so I hear that happens......

H = Hoagies As has been alluded to previously in this blog, I come from a maternal lineage of great cooks. Blessed be. My Aunt Jean made the very best homemade pizza and would come over to her sister’s, my mother's, house nearly once a month in the winter season and gift us with this delight. It was a family tradition that we honored frequently.
Just as we had pizza in the winter, in the summer the meal was hoagies. We would drive down the hill, through town, and up the next hill to pick-up my Aunt Jean. On the way home, we stopped at the local butcher shop, Brestensky’s, and bought fresh lunch meats and cheese. Next, was a visit to the local deli where we purchased homemade hoagie rolls and onions and pickles (lettuce was from our garden). Back home, Jean would set-up in the kitchen and create a culinary assembly line that included her homemade “hoagie sauce” which was the perfect closer --- think of the sauce as the Jason Grilli of hoagie making. The hoagies were incredible, yet, even more was the centerpiece of our home and lives together which was gathering at table as a family.

I = Ice Cream My mother and I welcomed the warm weather and the season of summer by having the “first banana split” of the summer season. During the long, lazy, hot, bright days of summer the regular stops at one’s favorite, local ice cream stand is mandatory for the season. How great is an ice cream cone licked and chomped on a summer’s evening?

sj;

D....E....F....

The Summer Alphabet continues....

D = Diving I was swimming at the local pool and was paddling near the diving board. A group of kids were there lined-up to go off the board. “I can do a pencil,” said one youngster. I was intrigued. What is a pencil dive? I paddled back, treaded and watched for this feat of diving prowess. She stood on the board. Took a deep breath. Walked to the end of the board. Stretched out her arms and then placed them down straight to her side.......and......jumped in the water......Seriously?? Who knew that “dive” had a name? Shoot, I’ve been doing pencil dives my whole swimming career and never knew it.

The lure of the diving board at the community pool --- you thought about it for a year. This summer, this would be the moment when you would jump off the high dive at the Freeport Community Pool! You steeled your courage. Told your friends. Updated your will. The day arrived and you climbed the steps. Remembered to try and not look down. Although, one was noticeably scared, I never recalled anyone running and jumping off the board in an effort to just get it over with. Nope...like a walk on the plank (Go Bucs!) you plodded to the end and jumped.

Being raised in the country, the majority of my swimming time, as of that of my family, was spent in the Buffalo Creek. There was not much to jump off of so my brothers, bless them, invented a new game to play: Who can bring up the biggest rock?”

Contestants dove under the water and sought to find the biggest rock one could grab and carry to the surface, out of the creek, and place upon the shore. An additional challenge to the contest was the fact that the Buffalo Creek is not a clean-flowing, natural, mountain stream. It’s muddy and cloudy and I would rather not think about its source; thus, one relied on feel more than sight which can be particularly frightening.

Naturally, competitiveness kicked-in and the rocks being brought to shore grew dangerously huge and eventually lead to the next game played being Who can build the biggest dam?

E = Evening It is the subject of poems and songs --- the grace of a summer evening. The day concludes tinged in warm light; there is a softness and a peace. Be it at a ballgame, at a campsite, on a boat, or on your front porch enjoying a summer evening is one of the joys of the season.

F = Feet In summer, go bare. Feet, I mean. Or, if so inclined, “go all in with nothing but skin!” Bare feet in summer --- strolling in the morning grass still wet with dew, or on a warm sidewalk; wading in the creek; the softness of sand --- take off your socks and shoes, ditch your sandals and go barefootin’!