When I was growing up in Mexia, Alabama, an unincorporated community in South Alabama’s Monroe County, summertime meant harvesting and canning vegetables from the garden. By late July, butter beans, corn, purple hull peas, okra, and tomatoes filled the chest freezer in the utility room—so overflowing that I often imagined Daddy would have to use industrial straps to hold the heavy, large door closed.
Summertime was just boring with a capital B. I actually looked forward to school days after the first couple of weeks of summer vacation. Mother was not sympathetic to her four daughters’ outbursts that we were bored. In fact, she said boredom was a good thing for a while. She gave us a to-do list to ease our pain: read, practice the piano, ride our bikes, play a game, or visit our aunts or grandparents who all lived within a hollering distance of our house.
