Schools Out for Summer….

(Not ours, but close)

As a child, I remember getting so excited along about the middle of May. Not only did we know school was almost out, but we also knew that very soon we would be off on another annual family summer trek. I think my dad may have looked forward to it even more than we kids did. Being self-employed and answering to no man (only Mom) he started preparing for this adventure weeks in advance.

Dad had a pickup truck loaded with the tools of the trade; paint cans, turpentine, paint thinner, rags, paint brushes, tarps, tape, scrapers, and anything needed to create an actual sign, plywood to poles. The truck always had a camper shell or tarp for protection. However, with summer just mere minutes away, everything was removed, including the shell, so Dad could begin the transformation. For this entire summer, it would no longer be just a work truck, it was about to be the family home!

I remember smelling fresh cut lumber and hearing saws and hammering in the garage. Dad was making his own family plywood camper….long before DIY or Pinterest was a thing! This camper would need to be big to do the job required. It would sport separate shelves for all his painting stuff, sleeping bags, suitcases, pots, pans, groceries and canned goods. Plus a ladder on top and a built-in bed!

As soon as the final school bell rang, releasing us to freedom for the summer, we would rush home, eager to see if all was packed and ready to go. Sure enough, within a few days, if not sooner, we were headed out to the open road!

Going where the wind blows…

I don’t think my dad ever had an actual plan mapped out, we just went where the wind blew us. Or rather wherever the need for fresh signs led us. We almost always headed for Missouri or Arkansas first, since that was Dad’s favorite country. With $25 in one pocket, God in the other, 4 fairly decent tires and his family fortified with bologna sandwiches, we were off….

Camping along the way…

Back in those days, there were always lots of free roadside camping spots, usually every 50 miles or so, and more often than not, right beside a river, stream, or lake. Route 66 was the way to go and Dad painted dozens of roadside signs along that route.

I remember many times pulling into a town with the tank almost empty, the camper larder nearly the same, and every kid claiming starvation. Dad would cruise around, checking out the various local diners, until he spotted the one with the shabbiest sign, pull in, hop out and say nonchalantly, “sit tight, kids, be right back”.

Within a few minutes he would be back, and soon enough we would be occupying the biggest booth in the place, menus in hand, ordering whatever we wanted. After eating, Dad would pull the red stub carpenter’s pencil from behind his ear and begin sketching, usually on the diner napkin, the creative and unique sign or window art that would pay for his kids dinner that day. Another small sign in town would buy gas and groceries, and down the road we would go.

Sights to see…

Back in the 60s-70s, roadside sight-seeing was a big thing and attractions were everywhere. For a couple of bucks, and sometimes for free, you could visit a Reptile, Bird or Alligator Farm, mini-zoos, mini-amusement parks, dig for diamonds, climb a giant Sinclair dinosaur, put on a ratty old cowboy hat and have your picture taken on a moldy, old stuffed buffalo, buy goofy “Arkansayer” toys for 25 cents, or stop for a nut roll at Stuckey’s. Assuming you could get Dad off the backroads and onto the interstate long enough to find one!

Camping….

We would pull off into a rest stop, whip up a fire in the grill (happily provided by the highway department back then), cook some “vittles”, ours usually being fried potatoes and eggs, and visit with complete strangers doing the same thing.  Since Dad never met a stranger, this was great fun for him. He would offer a ride or share our humble meal with anyone.

Always water….

We covered as much shoreline traveling the Midwest in one summer as any kid visiting the ocean.  I’m pretty sure we swam in a different river, lake, creek or local swimming hole every day. It was a great, cheap, cool and favorite pastime for us all, with the exception of Mom. She would never do more than wade around on the shoreline, as she was afraid of the water, due to a childhood incident where she nearly drown. But she realized that none of her kids had that affliction and were more like Dad, who loved the water, so she made sure to be on guard at all times.

The good old days…..

I think about eggs and potatoes in a cast iron skillet over an outdoor fire, bologna on white bread with mustard, sitting on a quilt in the grass on the side of the highway, reading, while Dad paints a sign 20 feet in the air above me and Mom keeps watch over the little ones as they play.

I remember standing on a home-made scaffold, 20 feet in the air myself, scraping old paint away so Dad could work his magic. And the car radio played Loretta Lynn, Merle Haggard or Eddie Arnold.

I think about the campfires, gritty, burnt hot dogs tasting to good, sticky fingers from roasted marshmallows on pointy sticks, the fishy smell of swimsuits wet from river play. Falling asleep in a rest area, snug in my space, to the lonely sound of semi-trucks whining their way down a long road home.

I think of the places we saw, the things we did, the freedoms we took for granted, simple amusements in an even simpler time, and I miss it. Not just for me, but for the innocence lost, the time gone by so fast, the carefree way we were able to just load up and head out, no need for strategic planning, never fearful of tomorrow, just eagerly looking forward to whatever adventure the next day held. A freer way of life that my children and grandchildren will never experience. I miss it most of all for them.