Brich: The summers we thought were ordinary

There’s just something about summer in a small town.
Maybe it’s because everything seems a little slower. Maybe it’s because there’s no packed schedule telling you where you need to be every minute of the day. Or maybe it’s because some of the best memories are made from the simplest things.
In the small town where I grew up, summer meant freedom.
The school year ended, and suddenly there was nowhere we had to be. You slept in a little later, stayed up a little later, and spent most of the day outside. Parents would tell us to go find something to do, and somehow we always did.
In a small town, it didn’t take much.
If we were bored, we dialed the four-digit number of a friend or sat at the edge of the sidewalk until someone came by.
And someone always did. Bikes could keep us entertained all day. We could ride across town, stop by friends’ houses, head to the park, and then end up somewhere completely different by suppertime. Kids gathered wherever other kids happened to be. No texts were needed. We just knew where everyone would end up.
Summer days were spent playing kickball on the ball field, building bike trails, or exploring “the Amazon,” what we called the spillway on the edge of town, a place that seemed a lot bigger than it was. We made games out of whatever we could find. We built forts, caught lightning bugs, and stayed outside until the streetlights came on or someone yelled that it was time to come home.
Looking back, it seems amazing how little we needed to have fun.
There were no smart-phones to stare at and no social media to scroll through. If you were bored, you figured something out. If your friends weren’t around, you found a project, rode your bike, or went outside and looked for an adventure.
The other thing that made small-town summers special was the people.
Neighbors knew each other. Parents knew where their kids were most of the time, and if they didn’t, somebody else probably did. It felt like everyone was looking out for one another.
Summer also meant community events. Little League games, where the coach picked us up and we rode in the back of his pickup. Vacation Bible School, with the prerequisite snack of two generic Oreos and a Dixie Cup of watered-down orange Kool-Aid. 
There was also something special about the way summer seemed to stretch on forever. School let out in May, and by the time August rolled around, it felt like an entire lifetime had passed. The days were long, and there was no rush to get through them. Time was measured differently. Not by meetings, deadlines, or appointments, but by swimming lessons, baseball tournaments, family vacations, and how many popsicles were left in the freezer.
Every week seemed to bring something new. Maybe it was a trip to the public pool, a night at the local movie theatre, or an afternoon helping a grandparent in the garden. Even chores felt different in the summer. Mowing lawns, pulling weeds, or walking beans weren’t always fun at the time, but they became part of the rhythm of the season.
Some evenings, the entire neighborhood seemed to come alive. Kids rode their bikes from yard to yard while parents visited in driveways and on front porches. The sound of lawn mowers gave way to the sound of music games on the radio, barking dogs, and screen doors opening and closing. Nobody thought much about it then, but those ordinary summer evenings became the moments that stayed with us long after childhood was over.
Because what stands out most now aren’t the big events, though. It’s the little things.
It’s sitting on the porch in the evening, snapping beans with Grandma. It’s the sound of crickets. It’s the smell of fresh-cut grass drifting through the neighborhood. It’s running through a sprinkler on a hot day or watching fireflies flicker across the yard after dark.
At the time, those moments seemed ordinary.
Now they feel pretty special.
The world is different today. Kids have more activities, more technology, and more things competing for their attention. But there’s still something worth remembering about those small-town summers.
They remind us that not every good memory comes from a big trip or an expensive experience. Sometimes the best memories come from a bike ride, a ball game, a county fair, or a summer evening spent outside with family and friends.
That’s the thing about growing up in a small town. The summers may have seemed ordinary while they were happening, but years later they’re often the memories we find extraordinary.