I’ve already posted a memory about kites that was triggered by Judy/Remi’s lovely poem HERE. But after a third re-reading, this lovely memory surfaced.
My favorite food memory: I occasionally drove a farm tractor for my good friend Dan my first summer out of high school. When the afternoon got so, so hot, he would give me a couple bucks and have me go to town to get a cold watermelon or two. The crew would gather on his tree-shaded concrete storm cellar & oh-my-goddess devour. We were already dirty, so the juice running down our chins, our chests, was pink & brown. But climbing back on our tractors, well, we were happy.