John B. Marek is a writer, farmer, outdoorsman and recovering economic developer. You can find his books at johnbmarek.com.
The other day, I realized that this is the first summer in 45 years that I do not have a “real” job. Of course, between writing, managing my church’s expansive community garden and working on my off-grid mountain retreat, I am as busy, maybe busier, than ever. Still, for the first time since the Carter administration, I’m not punching a time clock, directly or indirectly.
In the years before my driver’s license and my first job at Underwood’s Fine Foods, summer would kick off in earnest the week after school let out with a family trip to town to get my “summer kit.” I didn’t call it that at the time; it was just the stuff I needed to get me through the carefree days, endless sunshine and rural isolation of the summer months. While the exact shopping list evolved over the years as I grew up and my interests changed, a few standard items endured: cheap rubber sandals, floppy hats, bug jars, butterfly nets, sand pails, books and craft supplies.
While the allure of the season remains, the way I navigate it has necessarily changed with age. Although I still wear flip-flops and the occasional floppy hat, it’s been a while since I’ve invested in a butterfly net or sand pail. Here’s what I’m including in my essential summer kit for thriving, not just surviving, this first summer of my post-employment era.
Back in the day, sunscreen was an afterthought, if that. We might have slathered on some lightweight Coppertone for a full day at the beach or Cedar Point, but generally we just lived with the burn. Today, we know better. I use a daily moisturizing cream with 15 SPF built in and supplement it with a 30 SPF, broad-spectrum sunscreen for days on the water or the trail. A wide-brimmed hat and UV-protective sunglasses protect my eyes, ears, nose and face in the garden.
We didn’t care much about hydration in the ’70s, either. When we got thirsty, we drank and left it at that. There was always a pitcher of Kool-Aid or iced tea in the refrigerator. Our tap water was just about undrinkable in the summer, though. The Port Clinton water treatment plant had its work cut out making Lake Erie safe for human consumption, let alone tasty. These days, I have a collection of insulated tumblers and jugs ranging in size from 16 ounces to a half-gallon, depending on the circumstances. I’m drinking iced coffee from the former as I write this and will take filtered water infused with fruit slices out on the lake tomorrow in the latter. Each container is adorned with stickers recounting my various adventures, many from the dozens of craft breweries I’ve visited.
Perhaps the biggest difference between the summers of my youth and the summer (hopefully summers) of my post-employment is the ambient temperature. Granted, the North Coast of Ohio isn’t Charlotte, heat-wise, but we had our share of scorching summer days and little beyond a box fan to deal with them. I recall taking plastic bags of ice to bed with me on particularly sultry nights. I have no idea how people lived in the South before air conditioning and no desire to find out. For cooling on the go, we had paddle fans to wave in front of our faces to create airflow. These were used primarily in church, which was not air-conditioned, had no electric fans and could get a little stuffy in the summer months. Recently, I’ve seen folks using personal battery-powered fans worn around their necks like headphones. I have yet to make that plunge into codgerhood, but I’m monitoring the situation closely.
There was a playground at the elementary school about a quarter mile from my childhood home with swings, slides, a teeter-totter and monkey bars, but they were anchored in a sea of asphalt. Obviously, that would never fly today, and I cannot help but wonder how many scraped knees, bloody elbows and unreported concussions that hard-patch wrought in its time. In the summer, though, the issue was not so much the firmness as the temperature. That burning asphalt was no joke under the summer sun. I swear I could smell the soles of my dime-store summer flip-flops melting. While I am no longer inclined to try the teeter-totter, the same issues impact my suburban neighborhood. The sidewalks are pretty much unbearable in the middle of the day, so I take my walks early in the morning or late in the evening. I still prefer the feel of a pair of flip-flops – thongs as we called them way back when – but I have canvas boat shoes that provide more support and protection for longer treks.
No ’70s summer kit was complete without a set of beach tools or building sandcastles, moats and canals. The cheap plastic pails, shovels and sifters rarely lasted more than a single summer, but they were more durable than the sandy construction projects for which they were used. Sometimes, summer plans get washed away, too, so I pack a good book (currently reading Stephen King’s latest, “You Like It Darker”) and writing tools, a small notebook and pen for jotting down ideas or observations.
Summer may not be the carefree playground of my youth, even in my post-employment years, but it can still be a season of joy and exploration. With my summer kit, I’m equipped to embrace the sunshine, stay cool and make the most of this vibrant time of year. So, grab your metaphorical (or literal) water balloon, and join me for some summer adventures!