Summer@3 Years Old

Only the Bubbles Remain from this Beautiful Summer Day

Do you remember summer when you were three years old? Consider the snippets of warm, sunny days, small plastic pools, and running through the sprinkler? Sometimes reliving them through another three year old brings back the feeling.

The sunny clear morning gradually grew warmer. Summer lasts only a few months, sometimes a few weeks, in the western part of New York State, so any day like this is savored. Her mother went to work that morning, so she arrived around 8 a.m., hair still tousled from sleep.

We wanted to be outside, so we told her we would play pretend beach in the back yard. One blue plastic wading pool sitting in the shade of a giant willow tree contained sand, and the other identical pool was filled with water from the hose and moved into the sun. I used the play rake to clean out the sand, taking care to leave the even, spaced marks often seen on public beaches as the maintenance crew finishes in the early morning before the crowds descend from their cottages and condos to sunbathe and swim. I stepped into the three inches of water just put in the pool, and stepped out just as quickly. The water fresh from the hose was cold.

The sun warmed the water quickly though she only added all the pool toys from her bucket and then splashed with her hands without actually going into the pool. We played soccer with the large white striped beach ball, or at least the version of soccer dictated by a three year old who had her Grandmother and Great Aunt at her bidding. She put her fingers to her mouth like a pretend whistle, and made a noise that with only a little imagination became the whistle sound. The rules changed constantly, and we made an effort to understand and not laugh too hard. Following the soccer game came swinging on the swing set with Grandma pushing higher and higher. Snacks, a little sandbox time, and on to the old play truck in the driveway. The little lever made an engine revving sound, and the horn still tooted though the noise it made confirmed the age of the toy. Her mother at the same age had played on the same toy at her Grandmother’s house many summers before.

Back to the backyard to enjoy a couple of sparklers left over from the Independence Day party, and then out came the bubbles. Grandma filled and swung the giant wand, and large bubbles sailed on the breeze. She chased bubbles all over the yard, back and forth in her little swim suit with the fabric floppy hat to protect her skin from the sun.

Soon after, we retreated to the cooler house for story time. Midway through the second book, she fell asleep. Her mother arrived and we sat and talked about our day as she slept away. She woke briefly, Mom carried her to her car seat, and we watched as she nodded off again as we all said our good-byes.

Will she remember this day? Perhaps she will through the haze of photographs and stories told by us. I took many photos that day, but the one of Only the Bubbles remain is my favorite.