Summer in Oysterville

     Thank goodness Neighbor Jim mowed a path to the bay at the end of Division Street.  Otherwise, we’d probably lose Silas for good.  The grass is taller than he is at this time of year and it has turned the exact same golden yellow as his hair.
     “It camouflages me!” he laughs – a big word for an almost-four-year-old.
     My second cousin BG, two of her daughters and her four grandchildren have been here this week.  Oysterville becomes a whirlwind of activity when they are in town.  Some years the activity centers on the house – scraping paint, mending porches, cleaning out sheds.  Those sorts of activities are especially true when a wedding is in the works.
     There have been four Oysterville weddings among the Red House Cousins – one in our garden, one in the church, and two down at the bay.  They have all been fabulous and we, the cousins-who-watch-from-the-sidelines, lament that the marriage phase is over.  But, this next phase – the kid-rearing stage – is even more fun, if that’s possible.  Especially since our role continues to be one of observation and enjoyment only.
     These days, the Red House is “headquarters” from which continual forays into the greater world take place.  In Oysterville, the circuit always includes the store.  That was true when I was a kid and when my cousins were kids and their kids were kids.  I remember it being such a treat to have a nickel for a “pop” or to choose some penny candies from the big case with the curved glass cover.
     There was a bottle opener attached to the wall near the refrigerator and, when we used it, we were ever-so-careful not to bend the bottle cap.  It needed to be perfect with all the crimps still even around the outside.  Then we would carefully pry out the cork that lined the top and attach the whole thing to our shirt fronts – cap on the outside, held by cork on the inside.  It was one of those pleasures of summer that would probably not compute in today’s high tech, fast-paced world.
     I’m sure there were the equivalents of high tech pleasures, even when I was a child.  But it’s the simple things that I remember best.  I wonder what Si and his generation will remember.  Maybe it will be the grass that’s taller than they are.  I hope so.