Today is June 1, 2026, and although the calendar says the solstice is still weeks away, the heart knows better. For those of us with a bit of silver in our hair, June 1st was always the true, unarguable inauguration of summer. By now, the heavy school doors had slammed shut, throwing open the gates to endless, golden weeks. We headed straight for the Y, the Boys Club, or the community pool, the sharp scent of chlorine mixing with the heat radiating off the concrete. Baseball wasn’t just a game; it was a day-long liturgy played in empty lots until the ball was lost in the dusk. The only valid reasons to step inside were the call for dinner or the sudden, violent crash of a summer thunderstorm.
It is easy to romanticize the past, to polish it until the rough edges disappear. I try not to live in the “good old days,” because back then, we didn’t know they were folklore. We lived them in the raw. There were fierce fistfights over close calls at second base, muddy wrestling matches that ruined our clothes, and spectacular bicycle wrecks that left our knees and elbows permanently mapped with silver scars and scabs.
Yet, beneath the bruises, summer possessed a sacred magic. Teachers didn’t saddle us with mandatory reading lists; instead, we freely traveled through the glossy pages of comic books or the crisp, alphabetized volumes of the World Book Encyclopedia when rain kept us trapped indoors. We ran wild without shirts, our skin darkening under a sun we never thought to fear, utterly oblivious to the concept of sunblock. We waded through creeks to catch slick frogs and darting tadpoles, and we feasted on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—sticky, squished, and eaten to our hearts’ delight.
Summer wasn’t complicated, and perhaps that was its primary grace. We were granted the rare, beautiful permission to simply be children at play, shielded from the pressure of being young adults playing at adult games. There was a holy simplicity to it all.
And in that simplicity, God smiled. He looked down upon those sunburned, barefoot children, tangled in the grass and chasing lightning bugs, and saw exactly what he had intended from the very beginning. God’s attitude toward those timeless summers was one of profound, paternal pleasure. In our uncomplicated joy, we were accidentally honoring His creation. We weren’t carrying the weight of the world; we were just carrying jars with holes poked in the lids. By allowing us the freedom to just be, He gave us a fleeting, earthly glimpse of the peace he desires for all his children—a time when the days were long, the grace was sufficient, and the world was wide awake with wonder.
Loved this, Webb – poetry in Pew form. Beautiful thoughts and reminders of times past but not forgotten. A ‘holy simplicity’ indeed.
Thanks, Webb. Your column today brought back some wonderful memories for me, like the mason jar with the holes in the top.
Love this!
Thank you!