Those Were the Days

When I was a kid growing up in San Francisco, I spent a huge amount of my spare time outside. So did my brother and sister and the other kids in the neighborhood. Our parents sent us outside and “don’t come back until the street lights turn on.” People say that all the time like it’s some sort of mantra from the “old days” before everything changed and kids no longer enjoyed all the freedom we had.

I still remember those foggy, wonderful summer days when we pretty much went and did anything we wanted because even if we aren’t allowed to do it, like hang out where the construction was up at UC Hospital and run across planks on scaffoldings, or riding down the bumps on bikes at Whiskey Hill in Golden Gate Park. Whiskey Hill was the one place we weren’t supposed to go, although nowhere else seemed to be off-limits. It was located off Lincoln Way around Fourth of Fifth Avenue. Apparently, derelicts and drunks hung out there, although I don’t remember seeing any. We just found some empty bottles of booze.

Every day was a new adventure for us. We’d play at the Greens across the street in Golden Gate Park, also known as the “Kezar Triangle” next to Kezar Stadium, as if it was our giant backyard, and we even became annoyed when bands called stuff like the “Grateful Dead” built a makeshift stage at the Greens and played music for hours and hours. The twirlers spun around and twirled their long, colorful skirts, and the hippies danced. And we were invaded. They were always nice to us and gave us free cotton candy (our drug was sugar) and balloons and the diggers brought in free meals for everyone in the neighborhood.

We ran, rode bikes, trekked around Golden Gate Park, played games. We were everywhere. Sometimes when my brother and sister watched TV in the afternoon, I’d run to the Greens by myself and climb my favorite tree or ride my brother’s skateboard around. Every night, I’d feel that exhilaration and contentment from being outdoors all day, no matter what the weather was like.

Photos were taken by Mary Lane Cryns (aka Melody), Eugene, Oregon 2021

Today, I’m preparing for my daily walk on the trails across the street and my trek into the woods less than half a mile from our home. When I enter the woods, I feel enveloped and embraced by tall Sitka spruces and Douglas fir trees along with the mighty oaks and the ewes, and so many others. All the trees are covered with bright green fan-like leaves now, and the lush greens of the foliage, the blackberry bushes, and the smaller trees surround the path. It’s completely transformed from what it was like last November when I discovered these neighborhood trails, especially the Ridgeline trail which is considered “Strenuous” on the ridgeline trail map because it snakes its way uphill the entire way. I never in a million years thought I’d ever traverse a trail that was considered “strenuous.” In fact, I usually avoided those trails, thinking, oh those aren’t for me. I’m an overweight almost 64-year-old chick after all. Now beautiful red and orange columbine flowers hang down on the trail reminding me of helicopters for some reason. And I have no problem climbing to the top of that trail now on an almost daily basis.

About three-quarters up the winding path, there’s a bench that looks out on the trees both close by and in the distance. I love to stop and sit for a few moments in complete stillness listening to the birds sing to each other and the creaking sound of the trees and the swishing noise they make way up high when a breeze blows. I actually performed a parody song for “It’s A Long Way to the Top if You Wanna Rock n’ Roll” to “It’s a long way to the top if you wanna climb the hill…” on my 100 Days of Ukulele project. I did it as a slide show with photographs of the trail and the woods, with me singing and playing, “It’s not easy climbing up this hill, but it always gives me a thrill…” All this thought of while sitting on that bench, and more. Sometimes I’ll think of stories or just of being there in that space where I the sweet smell of the trees fills my nostrils and there’s no tall grass to mess with my allergies.

Sometimes I stay out and forget what time it is and the shadows of darkness creep in. That’s when my boyfriend calls and says, “Mary, it’s time to come home now. It’s getting dark!” And I dash home just like I did when I was a kid.