Lawn Mower Summers

Today, my husband, soulmate, and partner in crime, Larry K. Collins, shares a memory from his childhood. 

For about three years, starting when I was eleven or twelve, I mowed lawns in my neighborhood to make extra spending money. Several of the neighbors gladly hired me for the chore.

I used my father’s push mower. It was old school. The forward movement of the wheels drove the vertically rotating blades which sliced against a fixed blade. A grass catcher hooked on the back and was held in place by a coat-hanger-like contraption hung from the mower handle. I turned the mower upside down, threw the catcher on top, and dragged it down the street to the selected house.

A year later, a young couple from the next street over heard about me and asked if I would do their lawn on a regular basis, twice a month for $20.00 monthly. Wow, a steady source of income. And the best perk was he had a new state-of-the-art, rotary-type power lawn mower I could use. On this model, a propeller type blade spun horizontally under a protective metal housing. The gas-driven engine sat on top, and grass clippings were thrown out an opening on the left side of the machine. The motor only worked the blade, so I still had to push it across the yard. I agreed to mow and edge the property.

The couple and their two daughters, one three and the other a year old, had moved in recently. He was a news announcer for a local radio station, and she a retired airline stewardess. In those days the airlines didn’t allow married stewardesses.

Their house was located on a curve, so the front yard was small, but the back was gigantic. Behind the house was a vast field of grass sloping down to a six-foot high concrete block wall on two sides. A detached garage and driveway completed the third side. There were no bushes or shrubs except for three sickly little rose bushes along the garage and a fifteen-foot high peach tree in the far corner. Near the rear steps from the house was a patio. Well, really a ten-by-ten square concrete pad set with two outdoor lounge chairs, the kind with plastic webbing screwed to an aluminum frame, and a low table of the same construction placed between. During the summer months, a small inflatable kiddy pool rested on the lawn nearby.

The first day, the wife led me to the garage. Her husband was at work. She pointed out the machine. Then I was left to figure out how to use it. After several unsuccessful pulls of the starter rope, I finally found and read the instruction manual, checked gas and oil levels, set the speed control lever on the handlebar to ‘start’ position and tried again. Success. One problem solved.

The instructions also said to mow the lawn in counterclockwise circles from the outside to the center of the yard. Grass clippings thrown from the mower would be reduced to mulch, which would become fertilizer. It worked well. Soon the lawn in the center grew so thick I could hardly push the mower thorough it.

My first pass around the yard was also almost my last. As I approached the peach tree, I heard a loud twang from the blade, and a peach-pit struck me in the groin. Ouch! I learned quickly to rake fallen peaches from around the tree first.

During the summer months, the wife would sunbathe while the children played in the pool. Often, one of her girlfriends and her two-year-old son would join them. Two wine glasses would occupy the small table. It was my first introduction to twenty-five-year-old ex-stewardesses in bikinis. I tried not to stare.

One eventful day, I was trimming the tall grass around base of the steps with my hand clippers when the phone in the kitchen rang. The wife, lying on her stomach leapt to her feet and ran past me up the stairs to answer. In her haste, she forgot she had unhooked the bra back-strap to prevent a tan line.

Her girlfriend, seeing my stupefied expression, burst into laughter.

Thinking back now, the neck strap was still tied, so I didn’t get much of a view. Still, since I vividly remember the incident after more than sixty years, it must have made quite an impression on my preteen psyche.

I mowed their lawn faithfully for several more years, but sadly, it never happened again.

Santa Pictures – Part 2

Last week, I posted some of my photos with Santa. This week, I’ll show you the rest of them.

This was taken when I was five. I’m wearing the same dress I wore on the first day of kindergarten. I loved Santa, but I don’t look thrilled here. I assume my brother, Ron, has a separate picture. He would have been two. (I gave him all his photos years ago.) 

My mother loved bonnets on me. I hated them. Here, I'm wearing another one.

The next one was also taken when I was five. Apparently, I liked this Santa better, or maybe my cousin David (six-years-old) gave me more courage. (This is a better-looking Santa than the other one.)

Note the scrape on my leg. I was painfully clumsy as a kid and fell down a lot.

At age six, I look happier with the guy in the red suit. (He looks like the same one with me in the first five-year-old photo.) I still don’t know where my brother was.

When I was seven, I finally took a picture with my brother (aged four).

This one is bittersweet. By the next Christmas, my father was dead. (He passed away the following February.) This is the last real Christmas of our childhood.

I took Kim to see Santa when she was little (as well as the Easter Bunny a couple of times). I have the photos to prove it. As I recall, she generally liked Santa and looks happy in her photos.

These pictures represent the best times during my childhood. Do you have any of these? How do you feel about them?

Where the Sweet Peas Grow

Sweet peas have always been my favorite flower. When I was a little girl, my dad planted them every year. During the spring, the scent of sweet peas assaulted me every time I went into the backyard—and I loved it!

While they were blooming, we had bouquets in the house, and it, too smelled glorious. (My mother loved them, too.)

At the end of each season, Dad carefully took the seeds from the pods and saved them in a jar in the garage for planting the next year. Then he threw the vines over the back fence into the vacant lot. After several years, they germinated, and sweet peas grew along the back fence. Eventually, they expanded into our next-door neighbor’s backyard as well.

In addition to the sweet peas, Dad planted a lilac bush right outside of my bedroom window. He was told they wouldn’t grow in the California climate, but his did. I woke up all the summer to the warm aroma of lilacs. I still love them as well.

Dad died when I was seven. I tried to plant sweet peas myself afterward, with mixed results.

Several years ago, I discovered that South Coast Farms in San Juan Capistrano grew and sold them. Each year, I drive by and always stop when the sweet peas are blooming to buy some. The season is short, but each time I have a bunch in the house and inhale the scent of my childhood, I smile.

This morning as we were running errands, Larry said, “I have a surprise for you.” He wouldn’t tell me what it was. We drove across the freeway and went up La Novia. We drove to the top of the hill. There, covering about half a mile next to the road, along with the mustard and other wildflowers, were sweet peas—a carpet of them.

They shows as pink, but the photos don’t show them well. However, with the windows rolled down, the distinctive aroma filled the car—and my heart. One of the best surprises ever!

I was wearing my flip-flops, so I couldn’t climb the hill, but Larry got out and found some close to the road. He brought a few to me. Better than a dozen roses!

I came home and put them in a small vase with three of the buds from my rose bushes.

I am surrounded by one of my favorite scents—and sheer joy!

Do you have a favorite smell? What is it, and why is it special to you?

Here Comes Summer

After a week of graduations and celebrations of the end of the school year, I’m taken back to my own school days.

When June arrived, I couldn’t wait to be free for the summer. Although I loved school, I looked forward to spending three months with my friends.

I remember waking to the scent of lilacs drifting into my bedroom with the warm summer breeze. They weren’t supposed to grow in our area, but my dad was an amazing gardener, and he planted the bush. It bloomed every year, long after he died. So did the sweet peas he planted. Each year, he saved the seeds at the end of the season to plant the following year. Several years after he died, Mom pulled up all the volunteer plants and threw them over the back fence. But those stubborn flowers didn’t die. Instead, they came up on the other side every year for as long as I can remember. Both sweet peas and lilacs are among my favorite flowers. They remind me of Dad.

We had lots of kids our age on our block, so we had no problem finding someone to play with. When we were small, we roller skated up and down the sidewalks. One year, we used chalk on Diane’s driveway and garage to create a roller rink.

When we got a little older, we rode our bikes to the park where we did crafts, played tennis, and swam in the swimming pool. We often took picnic lunches and ate at the covered tables. We sat beneath the trees on the hill and rested or read.

I spent many hours in the shade of the willow tree in our front yard reading. When the other kids ran around in the heat of the day, I searched for a cool spot. I have never been able to spend much time in the sun. My fair skin has always burned and peeled or burned and blistered. But books were my escape. Through them, I could travel to other locations and meet new people.

One summer, a Sharon’s grandmother taught us to play canasta. We played every day that summer at one house or another. The tournament continued the next summer. I wish I still remembered how to play, but unfortunately I’ve forgotten.

One time, we had a snack stand. We sold hot dogs and other food from our kitchen window. My mother was painting the bathroom that day, and I still can’t believe she allowed us to do this. I’m sure the supplies probably cost more than we made.

As the afternoons cooled, we took to the streets. We played Red Rover and other team games. At dusk, we played ‘Ditch,’ a variation on tag. We could hide anywhere in the front yards on our side of the street. ‘It’ stayed near a streetlight and counted to 100. We each waited, hardly breathing until ‘It’ left the streetlight. Then we ran to the streetlight and tagged home.

We stayed out until a parent called their children home for dinner. Several adults had distinctive whistles. As soon as the first of the kids went home, our game broke up.

We often had sleep-overs with our friends. Sometimes we slept outdoors under the stars.

Our parents didn’t have to worry about where we were because we congregated at one house or another. Most mothers stayed home, so an adult was always present. They were friends, so everyone knew where we were and what we were doing.

Looking back, we had an ideal Norman Rockwell-type childhood. Our lives at home may not have been perfect, but our neighborhood was a safe place with families who cared about us.

By the time September rolled around, I was ready to return to school, although lots of my friends were not.

How did you spend your summers? What are your favorite memories?

The Playground

Last week I wrote about Granada Park, where my friends and I spent many happy days in our childhood. Several people asked, “But what about the playground?” I decided I had far too many memories from that magical place to lump it in with the rest of the stories of the park, so today I’ll tell you about it.

At the entrance to the park was a fishpond. Some friends caught pollywogs in the pond, and many played around it. (I didn’t catch pollywogs or frogs or toads there, but I remember the sound of the frogs and toads on warm summer evenings coming from the catch basin at the end of our street, where Hathaway Ave. and Sarazan Drive met. We called it ‘the Gully,’ but others had different names for it. I was too chicken to spend any time there because of the snakes and other critters, who lurked in the muck.)

Eventually, as I recall, a couple of children were injured in and around the pond, and it was filled and turned into a rose garden. They later took out the garden and replaced it with a fenced cement catch basin. I don’t know if it still exists.

At the south end of the playground, near the tennis courts, a cinder block building held the restrooms. I remember very little about them because the playground itself offered such pleasures.

           

We celebrated my fifth birthday at the playground with Diane Graham and her mother, Laura Lee, and Wilma Sehnert and her son, Dan.

In the photo below, my brother looks a bit bewildered after his ride down the slide. Yours truly prepares for a fast run while Diane Graham waits her turn.

The big slides were high and fast! The metal ladder led up to a platform some fifteen to twenty feet off the ground. From there, the rider had a choice of two options. The right slide was straight and ride was fast. The left slide had a dip in it. The ride was slower, but if you were moving, you might lift off as you left the bump in the middle—sort of like a ski jumper hitting a mogul.

We usually packed a lunch to go to the park. Then we used the waxed paper from our sandwiches like sleds to make the ride even faster. Because the slides were made of metal, they became burning hot in the sun. The heat melted the wax and formed a slick surface. I remember returning from a day at the park with the backs of my legs red from the slide.

However, the slide was not my favorite of all the activities at the playground. I loved the swings!

The park boasted two sets. The ‘little kid’ ones consisted of a slatted wooden structure with back, seat, and sides. The corners connected to chains, suspended from an A-frame tubular metal structure embedded in the ground with cement footings. A parent or older child placed the little one on the seat and then lowered a metal bar with holes on the ends, through which the front chains slid, to secure the child in the seat. The bar also offered a handhold. Then the older person pushed the little one.

However, I loved the big swings. They were large enough even our parents used them. They were constructed on the same type of A-frame structure as the little ones, only this one was about fifteen to twenty feet high. (Of course, I probably remember it larger than it was, but it was at least twice the height of our parents.)

The seats were made of heavy woven material with metal attached to the ends. Like the little swings, these fastened to a mechanism on the crossbar above. After a few years, the fabric began to wear and caused abrasions on the backs of our legs. Still, we were not deterred.

Swinging always brought to mind a poem I memorized when I was about two years old:

The Swing by Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,

   Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

   Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

   Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

   Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,

   Down on the roof so brown—

Up in the air I go flying again,

   Up in the air and down!

We’d kick off from the ground, and then lean forward and back to gain momentum. The goal was to get so high the chains snapped. We had no fear of the supports lifting off the ground as we did on the Jungle Gyms in our friends’ back yards.

Eventually, we allowed the swing to lose momentum—usually because others were waiting for a turn. None of us ever dragged our feet to stop the swing, however. When we deemed it safe, we leapt off at the farthest point forward in the arc and landed (or tried to) on our feet. Sometimes I missed and ended up with skinned knees for my effort.

Opposite the swings was the ‘merry-go-round.’ It looked something like the one above. Each of us grabbed one of the metal bars and ran as fast as we could around the circle. When we reached a speed where we could no longer run, we threw ourselves onto the spinning platform and enjoyed the ride.

Next to the merry-go-round were the teeter-totters. Like the swings, these were long enough for the adults to use. Like the other play equipment, they were made of metal. Some kids could spend hours going up and down on them, but I was easily bored and lost interest after a short time.

During the summer, we spent a lot of our time in the cinder block shelter at the opposite end of the playground from the restrooms. This consisted of two side walls, a back, and a roof. Inside, several permanent tables provided seating. However, during the summer, we were offered an array of crafts. For a small amount to cover the cost of the materials, we could spend days creating wonderful objects. They often became gifts for our parents. I presume the program was run by the Parks & Recreation department, but the specific instructors remain faceless and nameless.

Every kid in the neighborhood carried a skate key. The challenge was where to carry it since some of our clothing didn’t have pockets. Soon all of us had created lanyards from plastic string on which to keep our keys. Some created several in different colors to match our clothing. We also made square keychains. I’m sure our parents treasured those we created for them.

Some of my friends still remember basket weaving at the park. I remember the tubs of wet reeds, but I suspect the baskets were more expensive, and we couldn’t afford them.

I do remember using a manual drill to twist crepe paper into colored rope. We then glued the rope to old bottles to make vases and candle holders. Another treasured gift for our parents.

I recall painting plaster knickknacks. We carted our masterpieces home after the instructor sprayed them with a clear sealer. Since my mother saved very little, they decorated the house for a short while and then disappeared while we were at school.

We also took thin sheets of copper and traced designs on them. Then with a burnishing tool, we embossed them to give the designs dimension. Afterward, we painted them with paint that resembled tinted clear nail polish. I think I mounted a set on blocks of wood as bookends, but like most everything else, they eventually disappeared.

We made things with leather, too. We bought a pre-cut piece of leather, then used leatherworking tools to make a pattern. I made a comb case. Once the design was complete, we used a leather thong to lace the sides together. Now that might have been worth keeping…

Unlike today, when playgrounds are covered with foam or rubber matting, ours was straight dirt. Once in a while, the groundskeepers smoothed out the surface—especially under the swings, where dragging feet made grooves. No one seemed overly concerned about our safety. I’m sure children probably sustained injuries, but we didn’t hear about them.

I know lots of the kids who grew up in the area have equally vivid memories of the time we spent at the park and the playground.

What are your favorite summer memories from childhood?

Childhood Memories of the Midwick Tract

I grew up in the Midwick Tract in Alhambra, California.

            

The land started out as the Midwick Country Club and Polo Grounds, a prestigious location in Los Angeles County where movie stars, politicians, and royalty, including  King Edward of England, played golf and polo.

       

Films, like the original Robin Hood, were filmed on the polo grounds.

The Great Depression affected the club because fewer people could afford to frequent it. When the owners defaulted on a loan, Dominic Jebbia bought the property. In 1944, the clubhouse burned down, so Mr. Jebbia subdivided the acreage and sold it to a real estate developer. He donated part of the land to Los Angeles County for Granada Park and created a housing tract on the rest.

Returning WWII veterans bought most of the houses for their families. All the streets were named after famous golfers.

My family bought one of the houses in the first phase and moved in during the fall of 1948 when I was two years old. Our house was on Hathaway Avenue. Larry’s family bought on Hitchcock Drive in the second phase and arrived when he was five.

Our house was situated where the golf course had previously stood. We occasionally found golf balls in the neighborhood.

Midwick was the perfect place to grow up. Nearly all the mothers were housewives and stayed at home all day. The downside was we couldn’t get away with anything. The minute we did something wrong, our mothers knew before we arrived home.

The upside was the number of kids our age in the neighborhood. We never lacked for friends.

Just on our end of the street lived another girl my age, one a year older, one a year younger, and another two years older. Kathleen and I became blood sisters. We both had younger brothers and wanted a sister. She was the maid of honor at my wedding, and nine months later, she asked me to be the matron of honor at hers. When we celebrated our fiftieth anniversary in September, my ‘sis’ was there to deliver a speech.

Boys around our age joined us to play games during the summer. We roller skated on the sidewalks, rode our bikes to the park (more about that next week), and played all summer at one another’s houses.

I’ve stayed in touch with many of the neighborhood ‘kids’ over the years. Quite a few are my friends on Facebook.

We had no need for block parents because we always had adults around in case of problems. During the summer, we played outside until dark when a parent finally summoned one of us home and our play ceased. This was a time and place that seemed safe. We hung out in groups and never got into serious trouble.

I am very grateful to have been raised in this special neighborhood with wonderful people.

Next week, I’ll talk about Granada Park, the major hangout for all the kids who lived in the tract.