Could there possibly have been a better place to grow up than at the top of Woodward Ave. in Athens? There we had the freedom to explore, discover and dream, and we had the "village" that it takes to raise a child.
We had our own Sherwood Forest, Indian Rock and neighbors' yards to roam in, providing a landscape varied enough for our constant play. Don and John had tree houses in Sherwood Forest, and Don once kept a beehive there until it got overturned, causing confused swarms of bees to descend on our neighborhood. Cathy Stewart's mom kept chickens in the back yard, and the McClure's had a garden in which I first encountered rhubarb while looking for a hiding place during the summer night kick-the-can games. We played in yards, on porches, occasionally inside, and in clubhouses we created under garages and in nooks and crannies. We also had some pretty interesting neighbors in that village, and they taught us a lot about human nature.
On one side was the widow Mrs. Smith who taught Lois and me to hook rugs and once let us help her make jam from the concord grapes that grew on a small vine between our houses. After she was gone, Professor Whan and family moved in, providing two boys for occasional adventures. On the other side was the Williams family, a story unto themselves. I remember Pat attacking Freda with scissors (or vice versa) and little Jessica pressing her face into our screen door, wanting to come in. And Dottie with her friendly chatter and Fred with his big cigar. They were what we'd now call "dysfunctional," but then we just called them "neighbors."
We had Doris and Johnny White, who let all of us run in their extra lot and even threw a neighborhood picnic, Johnny giving the kids rides in his Jeep and providing a small bonfire for marshmallow-toasting. Lois and I loved to visit their baby, Jeff, and Doris seemed glad for the company.
The Robe house spilled boys with freckles out of every door, it seemed -- Eddie, Quincy and Nathan -- while Thor "Ollie" Olsen and his wife were the older Swedish couple with the strange accents. And I have a hazy memory of one of the Gaskill kids being found behind their couch, eating coal. Did that really happen?
And then there were the Goldbergs, he a mild-manned doctor and she a fire-breathing dragon lady. We were so afraid of Mrs. Goldberg, large and intimidating with the ever-present cigarette smoke curling out of her nose, that Lois and I would stand in the neighbor's yard, holding hands and calling out, "Can Francie come out to play?"
It was a long walk up that hill, but there was a whole world of wonders when you got to the top.
2 comments:
Oh, our blessed childhood there. A neighborhood with welcoming neighbors, without rules, where we could run free -- as long as we were home for supper. :) And Ajax Rock was there, too, just a little spot we made for ourselves because the boys wouldn't permit us in their wondrous treehouses.
What marvelous hiding places we had for kick-the-can, all provided by neighbors' garages, etc. whether they knew it or not. Places that were pure magic for little kids! Do you remember lying down in the middle of Woodward, ear to the ground, listening for and feeling the vibrations of cars coming up the hill so that we could run before we got run over?? Rita must've been away those days, huh?;)
I had forgotten about our dangerous behavior, but we were allowed to be children in a way kids aren't today, weren't we? Everyone kept an eye on us, but we got away with plenty. :)
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