By Ann Von Dehsen, June 27, 2019 — As the final bell rang on the last day of elementary school each year, we children would joyfully run home, discard our school clothes and change into our summer uniform of tee-shirts and shorts. We were now ready to engage in the sensory menu that only summer could bring.
The sounds of ice cream trucks singing through the streets, the rumble of distant thunder in prematurely gray skies as mothers called their children home from play. Mrs. B’s call was my favorite as she yelled, “Peter Michael, you better get yourself home right or don’t even think about dessert!”
On weekends, the sounds of lawnmowers and water hissing through sprinklers (which we joyfully ran through) took over the neighborhood.
In the evenings, neighbors would gather on porches popping their beer cans and discussing their day as a transistor radio supplied background music and baseball scores. Eventually, nature supplied a child’s lullaby of cicadas as we fell asleep and woke in the morning to the call of songbirds.
Visual treats appeared throughout the summer – brightly costumed marchers in holiday parades, bursting fireworks to which we “oohed” and “ahhed” in unison and heat lighting streaking through the sky.
Our favorite night time activity was running barefoot through the grass in hot pursuit of twinkling lightning bugs and the list goes on – the “summer-only” tastes of Jersey tomatoes, peaches, corn on the cob, coleslaw, potato salad, watermelon and water ice.
Our noses worked overtime as we inhaled the contrasting scents of insect repellent and sunscreen. The smell of charcoal lighter morphing into a full barbecue and the chlorine in the town pool that turned our eyes red.
And finally, our sense of touch often assaulted by an angry sunburn and then relieved by cooling aloe vera. The very annoying itch of mosquito bites and the satisfying (though forbidden by mothers) scratching to end it. There was the cool breeze of a fan, especially soothing if it was placed over a tray of ice. At days end, the touch of clean sheets as a parent tucked you in and kissed you goodnight.
Most of these sensory experiences still exist, we just don’t take time to observe or appreciate them as much in this now busy world.