Growing up on the farm means that many of my memories are entangled with nature and the seasons and the out of doors. Just like most kids, my two sisters and I could hardly wait for school to be done for Summer vacation. We had dreams of camping out in the tent in the orchard, getting up late in the morning, swimming in the pond next door, and of riding our bikes down to the woods and back. Yes, each Summer would be the best, where we would laze around in the sun, and not have a care in the world.

That first day home from school was the greatest. It was Monday, and yet our parents weren't calling up the stairs, “Get going, the bus will be here soon!” The cats would be curled up at our legs, and they would get up and stretch and be mystified as to these sleeping souls. Soon after breakfast, however, our Mom would say, “Well, girls, now that you're home for the Summer, there's a garden to weed and other chores to do.” Our cries of protest that this was a vacation fell on deaf ears.

When afternoon arrived, Dad announced that there were apple crates to fix and the lawn needed mowing. How dare he to think that we should get going on these projects so soon? But to Dad, who rarely got a vacation from anything, there was work to be done. The blow was softened when he announced we'd get paid 2¢ each for repairing the crates. My sister, Phyllis, and I rode our bikes over to the storage barn on the other side of the farm and promptly counted the crates. Yes, if we got up at 5:30 each morning and worked until 8 am, we could get the crates done by the end of the Summer. It would be worth it to have the rest of each day off.

But as farm work goes, there was always more. It wasn't long before our Grandpa's raspberry patch was bearing 100 quarts of raspberries a day. We could all be found out there kneeling amongst the bushes picking berries, eating as we went along. Just one more project for the Summer on the farm.

When August arrived, Mom would remark that we'd all need clothes for school come Fall, and we could hardly afford a trip to Montgomery Wards to outfit us. So off to the fabric store, where we delighted in picking out the patterns and our favorite fabrics. The living room became the sewing room as we vied for space on the floor to cut out our material. Slowly, our days became filled with the hum of the sewing machine, as Mom helped us with one problem after another.

Dad took great care and pride in growing the best apple crop ever. During the Summer, he'd need help thinning apples or cutting brush, and, of course, we girls would get elected. While Dad had his orchard, Grandpa had his garden, and Grandma and Mom would pick and can and freeze the rewards from that garden. It was an understanding that they'd need help, and my sisters and I were chosen. There were beans to pick, tomatoes to cook down, jam to make, and corn to cut off the cob. When the plums got ripe, we'd cook 'em up and can them, as Dad said they were the best tasting thing in the world in the middle of the Winter.

It wasn't long before my sisters and I realized that the Summer was quickly fading away and we were still fixing crates and mowing the lawn and picking the garden. Of course, somehow, Mom and Dad made sure we had time to sleep late in the morning, and to jump in the neighbor's pond during the heat of the day. Besides, we got to eat big bowls of freshly-picked raspberries with cream on them for breakfast, and gorge ourselves with as much corn on the cob as we could eat for supper. We were planning a trip to Woolworth's and Grant's in Schenectady, so we could use our crate money for that something special. Maybe Summer life on the farm wasn't so bad after all.

Yup, Summer had been pretty darn good. And we counted up the weeks till Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter vacations. We dreamed of sleeping late, and reading in bed with nothing more to do than petting the cats. Dad wouldn't dare to make us rake the lawn or shovel the walk or pick up brush under the apple trees during those vacations. And soon enough Summer would be here again and we'd be free for three months. We'd pitch our tent in the orchard and swim in the pond next door and after Mom made the jam, she'd give us the foam off the top. Life on the farm would be lazy and life on the farm would be free.