Summertime in childhood is all about exploration and adventure. When the school bell rang on that late June day, bidding goodbye to books, structures and teachers, we jumped headlong into the carefree freedom that was growing up in the 1960s.
We wallowed in long days of fun and play with neighbourhood friends, converging together without ever discussing the when and the where. It was as if some spell had been cast and the magic drew us.
While we could have started the days much later, indulging in a little sleep-in now that the classroom no longer called, it never happened. We were eager to get outdoors, running barefoot through dewy grass and flowers. One of my favourite places to be at these times was in my grandmother’s garden where the droplets on peonies sparkled in the rising sun, splashing our skin and clothes as we scurried by.
Throughout the day we would wander familiar parks and playgrounds in search of new activities and mysterious discoveries. Tiring of them we moved on to find new haunts, sometimes overstepping boundaries, but also secure in the safety of a community.
Yet at evening, as the last bit of daylight closed around us, pulled by the same magic that began our day, we made our way closer to home and back to the gardens and yards with those dampening grasses and petals once again surrounding us.
It was a special time in my life and my mind is drawn back to those days by the simple sight of dewdrops settled on a blade of grass or flower petal. These lovely photographs are reflections of the images that inspire those wonderful memories.
