I find it amazing how a simple experience in the here and now can transport a person's mind into the distant past!

​​When I was three we moved from city life to a land filled with mosquitoes, outhouses, and no running water. My younger years growing up in that wonderful place were formative in building my character and of immense value to my years as an adult. It wasn't until I joined the U.S. Navy that I realized how special my life had been. I felt the need to thank my parents for that gift, so I began writing special stories and snippets from my boyhood, sharing them, then filing them away. My mother got real joy in reading those stories.

​With the passing of time, memories become your life, and circumstance often unlocks a long-forgotten scene from the past. The heat of a summer day, the raucous call of the Blue Jay, common things, everyday things unfolding in a way that jogs a memory from long ago. These are the things that fill me with joy.

Pictured are L-R author–Nancy Bursch–sister Jill–Betsy Bursch—Darlene & Larry Bursch

  ​As I sit in darkness on my porch, I hear the sounds of a summer night and realize they are identical to those of my youth. The crickets and frogs dominate the chorus as the occasional June bug bangs its body against the screens, and when I lean back in my rocking chair, head inches from the screen, I can hear the mosquitoes buzzing as they look for an opening. The fallen leaves behind the garage crackle in quick succession as a small animal, perhaps a field mouse scampers from one hideout to another in search of food. A loud cry pierces the night as a screech owl, also on the lookout for dinner, makes his presence known. 
   This warm summer night reminded me of a lesson learned. Not a lesson about fear, but one of being strong. Of family, and the strength it provides. I am transported to the hollow on Island Park, and am once again, ten years old; another piece of my evolving character finds it’s way into my psyche; the fears of after dark in the swamp.   

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​   August was my favorite month of the year. I woke up in the mornings on the porch and realized I’d slept without covers the whole night, the temperature already comfortable when my eyes opened.
   August. I loved the stillness of the air when the sun was high, the intense heat, and the sweat running off my forehead and down the bridge of my nose.
I loved not being cold.
   The days were long and hot, and all the families seemed to look forward to the coolness of the evening hours. At twilight, the entire neighborhood came to life as people walked the gravel roads, stopping to visit along the way. Dad and the other men played horseshoe until it got too dark to see the stakes, and Mom entertained the neighbor ladies on the front porch.
   Of course, the kids took advantage of the cool evenings too. We usually 

gathered at the top of the hill in front of our house to organize and play our evening games. With the familiar swamp close to the house, it was a natural for hide-n-seek.
   Dad kept the hollow mowed to the edge of the swamp. The hollow was mostly open space while sporting a few apple trees, some oaks, and two beautiful birches. He loved working outside and took pride in keeping it as neat as any city park. One summer, on a warm Sunday, a car pulled onto the grass at the top of the hollow, and a family spread a blanket and had a picnic. He never said anything to them, proud that they thought it was a park.
   The hollow had a definite line where the grass, made soft by Dad’s mowing, met the un-mowed swamp. The swamp grass was waist high, and when dry, made a perfect hide-n-seek spot. Larry and I considered each other as professional hiders.

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SIMPLER TIMES - A PERSONAL MEMOIR
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and join me on a magical return to 70-years in the past.

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