Summer's pause

Making memories to last a lifetime

by

Linda MacKillop

Most of my favorite childhood memories involve summer at my grandparents’ home on Cape Cod where time played by its own rules, allowing us to drift through wide-open days as if all the world offered only safety, quiet, and joy. We built sandcastles with moats that wove around the structure and allowed whirly birds to travel the circumference. Those whirly birds, technically called samaras, falling from the sky bore seeds with the potential to become full grown trees. They seemed full of promise as they spiraled down, just as our days felt full of promise. 

Something also planted itself deep within us as we played with the whirly birds while the hours stretched out for miles, something that would return to me in my adulthood when I needed to remember a childhood place of tranquility and time’s summer pause. That place where we studied the glitter of rocks, felt the coarseness of the sand in our hands, marveled over snapping turtles. That place where we manned the rowboat, skirting across the pond, then spent an afternoon swimming and jumping off the dock before scampering up the path to enjoy fried clams, onion rings, and my grandmother’s freshly grown vegetables. 

Unfortunately, as my siblings and I aged, the pause ended and time speeded up. We found summer jobs and bought cars, forcing those visits filled with lounging and savoring to mostly end. The visits never again offered seemingly unending days in the presence of our loving grandparents. When my grandparents died, the refuge of Cape Cod vanished when new owners bought their house. Time showed us even the steadiest of days eventually change.  

Then I became a parent.

As a parent, I desperately wanted to replicate those cherished memories for my own sons, offering them safety and peace—if only for a time. While the waterfront family home no longer existed, I tried to recreate some of the outdoor pleasures and timelessness through camping trips to the coast of Maine and Massachusetts, or in the mountains of Virginia.

I wanted to give them tender memories embedded in their minds that they could summon even into adulthood when the need arose to recall simpler, slower times.  

I made great efforts to give my sons unforgettable moments like the ones that bolstered me when the harsh winds of my parents’ divorce and financial problems overtook us. Recalling those Cape Cod days reminded me the world contains goodness and holds promise, no matter how messy the season, providing hope better times would return. I wanted my sons to be able to conjure past times when the present got hard—maybe even seeing those precious moments as something they would want to pass down to their own children someday. 

Today they are parents, and I see them working to create those moments through camping trips, visits with extended family, or trips to the mountains—or even the simplicity of a hike in the woods or a visit to a park.   

Recently, our entire family of fourteen vacationed in the Blue Ridge mountains, renting a six-bedroom lodge nestled in the woods and just a stone’s throw from a lake. While different from the scenery of my Cape Cod experience, the joy on my family’s faces and in their voices spoke of something holy and beautiful happening while we retreated from the world for the briefest of times. Not only were we relishing God’s beautiful creation together, but shared memories would bond us for a lifetime, memories they would be able to recall when they were older and life transitioned. Thoughts of my own grandparents felt palpable to me during our vacation.

While I deeply cherish and value memories, they are tricky little things, able to keep us close to loved ones or experiences long gone like that beach sand sifting through our fingers; but often they arrive with a grief and longing we can’t quiet. Practicing gratitude for family time in God’s creation partially combats the bittersweet emotions of grief and joy. Intentionally passing down new memories to our children and grandchildren also manages all the feelings. 

As we were saying goodbye on our last day in the mountains, I noticed the slump of my dear five-year-old granddaughter’s shoulders and the sad look etched on her face. Her demeanor echoed my own feelings. I placed my hand on her head and said, “You have something you can always keep from this trip.” She looked up at me with curiosity. “You’ll always have the memories from our time here.” 

While those words may sound simplistic, they are true and important. I hope when she and all her cousins recall our visits, they sense the promise of a better, timeless place, something shadowed in this life but beckoning us with its goodness. I hope their family’s unconditional love embeds a truth in their hearts that our love mirrors God’s same love for them, speaking of their value as His image bearers. May the treasure given to me by my grandparents spiral down through the generations, summer after summer, year after year, gifting them with unhurried time and an adult’s undivided attention—even to my grandchildren’s children.

Linda Mackillop, author of The Forgotten Life of Eva Gordon and Hotel Oscar Mike Echo earned her MFA in creative writing from the Rainier Writing Workshop and strives to put life’s broken pieces and people together again through stories filled with heart and charm. Find out more at lindamackillop.com.