Living in rural Maine was the best possible way for a kid to grow up in the 60’s and 70’s. Although we had a television, we were much to busy outside to even consider watching it during the day.  We were free-range kids and had the run of fifty acres around our farm; what didn’t belong to us belonged to an uncle who didn’t mind a bit, so long as we didn’t knock down his corn.

The second crop of hay would be on the ground waiting for the bailer–how I loved that drying grass smell. One time I rolled my sweaty body around in a row of hay and no amount of bathing or swimming could get rid of the itch from the chaff.  The apples would be starting to turn red, acorns began dropping from the oak trees and the potato tops were sprayed so they would die.  

School shopping didn’t take long in our house, since mom and Grammy made most of my clothes, but how I loved to get new notebooks, pencils and pens.  That must have been when my addiction of notebooks started. I still have to buy a bunch of notebooks when they go on sale. I seem to recall that erasers had a scent then because I used to purposely make mistakes so I could erase them. A skunky smell perhaps?

We’d stand out at the end of the driveway and wait for the bus to come at precisely 7:20. The bus would pull up and open that big yawing door for us and we’d get on, with brand new clothes and big expectations for the coming year.

I loved to go back to school, for about the first week.  I normally didn’t get to see my friends during the summer and I was always excited to see them.  The school bus was always an adventure; several of my cousins rode on the same bus and they (never me!) were always in trouble.  How a busdriver survives mentally and physically I will never know.  They can’t possibly make enough money to make it worth it. It has to be one of those jobs that requires amazing patience, something I have never had.

As the last days of August arrive, I think about those days. How long summer seemed to last and how I don’t remember a single rainy day or a day of utter boredom as a kid.  I could always find things to occupy myself. As an adult, I find being alone comfortable and nice. I read, write, garden, nap or otherwise occupy myself, never feeling restless. My television is rarely on during the day and I like it that way.  These late August days give me a chance to realize that summer is coming to an end, yet I get autumn to prepare for winter.  August is a wonderful month.