Pleasant Memories

Summer. Gosh, it’s hot. Summers were relatively short in the mountains of Passaic County in New Jersey. We had all the seasons, unlike some of the southern states. Each had its own dramatic flair. Summer was always one of my sister’s and my favorites. It’s when we get to spend the most time outdoors and have the most daylight to be outside as long as possible.

We had equal amounts of the other seasons, too. Winters were cold, and the lake where our home was would freeze over. We should go ice skating on the lake behind the house. Our driveway was so steep that we would sit on lid-shaped sleds and slide from the top of the drive by the garage to the base, where a gigantic oak waited for our demise. It never got its wish. We always skirted death. It was dangerous, but then again, so is living. Mr. Oak once got one of our cars. It decimated our sky-blue VW Bug when the car slid on the ice that had accumulated over the wintry days. The car could not stop in time, and the tree had a good laugh.

Autumn was beautiful in Ringwood. Deciduous trees, dense as a forest, lined and filled every property. Having provided shade in the balmy summer, they transformed in the fall into a cornucopia of color. We had them all. Reds, yellows, oranges, and browns, all over the lake town. The pictures you see of New England in October are exactly on point. It was as beautiful as it looked in all the pictures. It was my favorite season for most of my life because of the display we enjoyed every year.

Spring was something to behold. Everything would come alive in a verdancy unlike any other. Beginning with the young, fresh, lighter greens of tender leaves, it would deepen in late spring to deeper shades. Deep, velvety greens would fill and obscure any direct view you had during the winter months of anything around the lake. Gentle breezes would make the trees sing in their dulcet tones, nature’s songs.

Birds of all colors would chirp away their workday, offering us their melodies, an accompaniment to the drama of rebirth. Baby birds could clearly be heard throughout the spring. I can’t remember how many times we would look up at the trees, trying to pinpoint the location of a nest so we could see which bird had the babies singing. Spring was magical.

My mom planted bulbs in the autumn. In spring, the cacophony of colorful blooms sparked my love of flowers and gardening at a young age. I remember tulips, poppies, bleeding hearts, narcissus, lilacs, and other flowers I have long since forgotten, cascading over every level and part of the gardens around the house. They filled the air with fragrance. Those memories were the most impactful and softened the harsh memories that marred my childhood. I have planted lilacs everywhere I have ever lived because the flowers and their scent bring me back to happy times. I have them in many colors, though my favorite is the quintessential lavender my mom grew.

Summer brought an entirely new barrage of treats for my sister and me. We would wander through the garden around the house, enjoying its mysteries. Every corner was a hidden gem of wondrous revelation. Mom was so good at creating a world away from the world. Trees covered parts of the garden, letting only a slight peek of sunlight stream through. In those places dotted across one side of the house were raspberry bushes. Those berries would ripen into the most delicious natural candy in the world.

Down there, on the way down toward the lake, on another level of the terrain, she grew currants. I didn’t know what currants were until she introduced them to us. They were surprisingly tart, almost sour. Eating them straight off the bush wasn’t my favorite thing to do. We didn’t eat them much, actually. Mom said she grew them to make jam and jelly. She would add them to raspberries or strawberries to tame their sweetness. She preferred a little tartness in her jam. At lake level, we had strawberries and an apple tree. Fruit fresh off the property filled the entire year. Apples were for fall baking.

Summers on a lake were hot. There was no ocean breeze to stir the air. There was no high-altitude coolness to temper the steamy heat. It was a dome effect, like a greenhouse.

The best and most abundant relief came from the lake itself. The lake water was always cool and refreshing. On our stretch of the lake, we had a raft. We could swim out to it, lie on it to sunbathe, or dive off it and swim back and forth to the steps leading out of the water.

When we weren’t at home enjoying our summer break from school, we would often walk or bike to the other side of the lake, where there was a community beach. People from all around the lake would gather there. Every kid from the lake would go there to have fun and swim with all the other kids. Ringwood was a tight-knit community. It was safe. Everyone knew everyone, and all the parents knew all the kids. It was a hidden paradise.

The beach, as we called it, had plenty of space, and the water ranged from shallow to deep. The change in depth was marked by buoys and a line, reminding us we were entering deeper water that was not safe for weak swimmers. A high diving board sat at one of the deepest parts of the beach, where the most daring could test their skills. I took my first dive off that board and platform. The fear was almost as exhilarating as the dive into the cool water. For a little girl, the fear was genuine, and the height felt like a tall tower. Not in reality, mind you, but as a five- or six-year-old, it might as well have been.

The community beach often hosted barbecues, children's contests, and gatherings for adults and families. I won a bubble-blowing competition there one summer and a quarter. I managed to blow the largest bubble without it sticking to my face or hair. We didn’t have non-stick gum back then, so that was an accomplishment. Back then, a quarter was worth something. I bought a couple of popsicles and shared them with my sister and friends. It was a glorious time.

Those are the kinds of memories that make harsh realities easier to bear. My childhood was anything but pleasant. That said, there were moments that transcended pain and trauma. Those are just a couple of them. I held on to those, and they are still the most vivid memories I have of the good days.

Sometimes I think about the bad times. There were far more of those than happy ones for me; even so, they make me smile, and for a brief time, I can forget the less pleasant memories of the past. We all have something to hold on to that keeps the demons away. These are a couple of mine. What are yours?

A very old shot of the beach on our lake in Ringwood. Taken by one of my parents. 

(Published on Illuminations-Curated May 19, 2026 via Medium and Substack)