The Sounds of a Childhood Summer

As I was lying in bed trying to sleep after my last night shift, I heard the civil defense siren. It gets tested here on the first Wednesday of every month. Since I hear it so rarely, and usually in the response to dangerous weather, it never fails to strike just a bit of fear in my heart. This is a shame actually, since, as a child, this was just one of thousands of sounds that made up the daily summer aural milieu. I feel an auditory trip down memory lane coming on…
The noon whistle, that’s what we called it, the daily “test” of the CDS in the town where I grew up. It was never scary. Just that daily time reminder, “Hey kids, lunchtime!” it seemed to shout. It was most prevalent in the summer months, when we would likely be out on bicycles when the time approached. It was our signal to ride on home for cheese sandwiches (or whatever the current favorite happened to be) and comic books and a break from the heat for awhile in the cool of the dining room and some catching up time with Mom.
Mourning doves. That’s a sound that never fails to conjure up summer mornings, when it was still a little cool out and the dew had yet to dry on the grass. Actually, I thought they were called “morning doves” until I was told differently when I was a teen. I wish I had never been told that. I preferred to think they got their name from the time of day they seemed to be the loudest, not because they sounded sad. I never thought they did. I loved their call. The soft, low, “whoo, whoo, whooo ” that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. I still love it and never fail to smile and tilt my head to listen harder when I hear it.
My dad’s really loud, piercing whistle that he used to call us home in the evenings when we were out in the neighborhood. It could be heard a long block away. That was the signal for, “Ok kids, you’ve played out in the sun long enough. It’s time for baths and snacks and bed now. Come on home.” Just thinking about that one has me teary eyed.
Crickets, and later, locusts, chirping in the trees. When we moved to Missouri, it was fall, so I had to wait until June to hear locusts for the first time. If you’ve never heard the sounds of thousands of locusts whirring all summer, it’s hard to imagine the constant, loud sound they make. It really freaked me out at first. Who could believe that BUGS could make that kind of noise! Now that I live back up north, I kind of miss it. Who would have thought?
Lawn mowers buzzing almost constantly on Saturdays. Our neighbor across the street, Mr. Houston, mowed his lawn every three days, without fail. He had a great lawn. I guess if you’re retired and need some alone time, there are worse things you could do.
A thunderstorm at night. The kind that start as a low rumble in the distance, move over your house like a steamroller and then fade away again. I used to be afraid of thunder. So much that I once pulled down the curtain rod in my parent’s bedroom while trying to hide from it. Then my mom told me about how they come and go. After that, I was too fascinated listening to the phenomena to be afraid.
Kids on bikes with playing cards stuck in the spokes. I don’t know who came up with this idea, but is there a kid anywhere under the age of ten who doesn’t think this is cool? Something as simple and cheap as a playing card that can turn your everyday bike into the greatest sounding motorbike around? I bet there are a lot of adults who still wish they could stick the king of hearts on their bike tire and whiz around like Speed Racer.
These are just a few of the sounds of my childhood in the summer. I think that most of them are universal and heard by millions of people every day, small things that make our lives richer and more interesting. Life is good. Anne