|I had to change it to 1970's|
Reminded me of when we lived on a corner in Brownsburg, Indiana when I was in 3rd & 4th grades where Jefferson Street dead-ended into a field which was about 4 feet higher than the end of the street. There was a natural dirt ramp (two, really, side by side, one steeper than the other). We called it "Motorcycle Hill".
We would ride our bicycles on the dead-end street as fast as we could at the steeper portion and have contests to see how far we could jump our bikes. More than once bike and kid separated mid-air or upon landing, sending the bike flipping in the air and the kid in the dirt.
It was awesome.
The field's gone today. I think there's a library there now, and I Jefferson is a thru street today. Looking at a map it does look like they preserved some of the meadow, though.
We caught fireflies, got scratched by thorns, and bitten by mosquitoes and chiggers and a tick or two in that field. My little 8 year old brain was fascinated by the flora and fauna. Got me the nickname "nature boy".
We walked to school ... it was maybe a mile or so. We'd "pick up" kids as we traveled and they'd walk with us. On really cold days we'd stop at the post office to warm up along the way. Older brother Tom was responsible for keeping us moving along. He'd sing this song:
"Hurry, hurry, hurry for your scurry, scurry, scurry or I'll kick your butt - right in the middle!"He might have gotten it from Boy Scouts -- or he might have just made it up. It worked.
But one spring day when I got to school apparently a bit earlier than usual (we showed up before school and played on the playground largely unsupervised until the bell rang), one of my friends said, "Phil! You're early! Did not you stop to examine every blade of grass you saw?"
I should really write about the Brownsburg days. Some of the most fondly remembered childhood memories happened there.