LOCALadk Magazine

LOCALadk 17 My older, 5-year old son Olin dives head first under his covers like a little squirrel, sweeping his arms wild- ly around. "My bed is full of sand," he exclaims. Before I'm judged (although I'm sure you're not the type to judge) I'd like to say I think I'm a half decent mom, hovering at around an 8 most days on the well-round- ed parenting scale. I typically don't let my kids go to bed totally disgusting, but let's be real: there are days when I toss them into bed with ice cream-stained shirts and a solid layer of sand still between their toes. If they go to bed sandy on a July Sunday night, there is a good chance that sand will take up residency until the following Sunday when I switch their sheets. Anyway, it had been there for a bit. I kiss his sweaty head goodnight, his hair still smell- ing of bonfire smoke. The room is warm because, like most Adirondack homes, we don't have air condition- ing. A tiny metal fan in the corner of the room is buzz- ing away, challenging the "peepers" outside to a white noise contest. As I descend the stairs, I'm hit with a wave of nostal- gia for my own childhood summers in the Adirondacks. My brother and I would spend our days running bare- foot along Buck Hollow paths on Seventh Lake Beach. We'd find the perfect spot and hang our towels over branches like pirate flags, with buckets and snorkels in tow. We were the ultimate explorers occupying our- selves for hours on end on the sandy shoreline. One particular summer, I had received a snorkel and flippers from my dad. I became obsessed with diving as deep down as I could, turning to look back at the surface above. I imagine it was like how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole, with the rest of the world spiraling out of reach above. The weight of the water would press on my chest while I held my breath, all around me golden rippled sand and a foreign new perspective of the sky and sun above. Sometimes I would think about how crazy it is that you can simply "disappear" for a moment. I could hide on the sandy bottom of the lake and be free from any responsibili- ty. Even from a young age I valued this idea of escape, the peacefulness of the water and the stillness around me. When I returned back to the surface (it was always dramatic) I typically expected an applause, like I had just returned from a journey to the moon where hours had passed, only to discover (according to my brother) it had just been a few moments. I would dive over and over until my lips turned blue and it was time to take a break. My 11-year-old uniform that summer (in addition to the snorkel and flippers) was a hot pink one-piece bathing suit with white fringe and clear jellies. Some- times I'd rock a half-eaten candy necklace, adding an extra layer over my friendship peace sign necklace, the blue and pink candy colors dripping into my neck like some sort of psychedelic goo. At night, we'd gather around the porch for big family meals, roasting marshmallows over the bonfire and calling out to the bullfrogs in the bay. I'd go straight from my bathing suit to my pajamas, snuggling into my tiny bunk bed with sand clinging to my sheets. Falling asleep to my grandma's antique metal fan and the bullfrogs' croaks was pure bliss. These days with my own little ones I look forward to summer in the same way. Once the ice cream shop and beach opens in our little town (things only open this time of year), we know the best days are upon us. We eat donuts for breakfast and sometimes ice cream for dinner (I didn't say I was a "9" Mom). The sun shines and the temps are warm, and we load into the boat to run the same beloved trails at Buck Hollow. Their little bare feet speedily race before me, tracing the same steps as their momma years ago. We hike the trails of my childhood, and I tell them stories about things we have seen while stopping every ten feet to wade a stream or climb up a rock. Of course, countless nights end with a bonfire and friends. Our favorite gathering place at home, by far, is out back under the stars. Welcome to summertime in the ADK my sweet boys. If I wish for anything for you this summer, it is that on more than one occasion, you to go to bed with bellies full of ice cream and marshmallows, bonfire-scent- ed hair, earth stained feet, and a bit of sand in your sheets. May we all ever be so lucky to end a day this way. (P.S. Mom, thank you for these days and my love for the ADK that pushed me to move my family here. De- spite my sandy sheets, you were a solid 10.)

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