For two memorable summers, in 1949 and 1950, my parents rented a room at a large upstate New York farm so we could escape the oppressive city heat of July and August. So, came June 30, my mother and I, my father was working, boarded a train, pulled away from Washington Heights, and were off to spend eight bucolic weeks in Narrowsburg, New York. 1
Years later, after having purchased a vacation home in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania, I saw a road sign that said "Narrowsburg". Following the word was a designated route number. I filed the sighting away, excited by hopes of locating the old farm, and nebulous intentions to follow the sign in days to come.2
It did take awhile to seriously embark on the journey, but finding the farm wasn't easy. It wasn't there anymore. The land had been cleared of the farm house and adjacent structures, now buried in the past for good. Furthermore, it had taken several tries just to have got that far. 3
I had found the town,(in New York, close to the Pennsylvania border) Narrowsburg: a restaurant, barber shop, novelty and gift store, post office, railroad depot. Seeing it almost as it had been, elicited momentary rejuvenation and a great joy. There was a nice overlook commanding a scenic view of parkland and water, which I didn't remember. But standing before the train depot brought back that hot summer afternoon in 1950. 4
My mother and I had disembarked and taken our bags to stand before the train depot, in the street, overdressed, waiting for old man Schwartz to arrive in his black pick-up truck to take us down the back roads to the farm 5
Peculiarly, as I thought back to that day, and the scene appeared vividly to me, I was overtaken by an all encompassing depression. It was not a simple wistfulness. I was smitten with a deep gloom. My impression was that something had happened on that spot, that very afternoon. I did not know what. As I allowed myself to drift back to 1950, I saw myself, the eleven year old, holding a paper pocket calendar hidden behind an arithmetic text book.6
I had begun counting and crossing off days as early as the end of April, the little card calendar, one of my most cherished pocket treasures, produced at every available opportunity. High point of the afternoon was the moment reserved for obliterating another passed school day. It was also my habit to keep at least four or five days behind so I could occasionally annihilate more than one or even two days at a time. And by the end of May the ritual was embraced in earnest.7
The yo-yo I had been saving for and with which I envisioned myself spending endless hours in amusement and practice was to be a bright green Duncan with black stripe. I had already purchased glassine bags of spare strings. I imagined waiting for my friends on the farmhouse porch, filling any dull moments with the Duncan. It would be a tension free summer of relaxation and play. I had had enough of tests, homework, schools and teachers. 8
The train ride was wonderful. It was part of what I had been looking forward to: the dining car breakfast of pancakes, the linen napkins and heavy silvery urns, the changing views from the train windows, and my special new summer vacation comic book: a thicker edition that featured a puzzle page. The ride, filled with anticipation, seemed longer than what it had to have been.9
The summer before, I had met Jules and Glenn. They were brothers, Glenn, the handsome, older brother; Jules, the bright and more precocious. Only a year or so separated any of us and we all played together. Every day of the summer, the fields and pine forests submitted to us and our revelry. We camped out, we hiked. 10
Once a week or so, we hiked up the Hoffman dirt road, all the way to the General Store. I spent much of my time there admiring the display of Camper King Pocket Knives. My favorite was the knife with not two, not just a double blade, but no less than five blades for camping, including: a can opener, bottle opener, a screwdriver, and an awl. Hopes of obtaining that knife propelled me through many quiet days, certainly up that hot Hoffman road to the General Store.11
We helped old man Schwartz on the farm. And at the end of the summer, as he had promised, Schwartz took us to the Lava Fire Department Fair. We had been looking forward to it for two months. There had been threats of "if you don't help out…" or "if you don't behave yourself, you won't go to the Lava Fair". But we did get to go, in Schwartz's black Ford pick-up truck. And, it was great. We pitched pennies, threw wooden rings over bottle necks, ate ice-cream and hot dogs, spent the dollar we each had saved and walked through the heated August afternoon as it baked the final days of summer. 12
When it was over and we had to return to the city we knew there was next year; we would see each other then; school would have come and gone and it would be summer again. 13
"Next summer….See you next summer!" It was waiting, off in the wings. 14
And now, at the depot in Narrowsburg, I recalled that depressing day, as I stood quietly at the top of that next summer, my mother and I, in the hot sun, in our city clothes, waiting for Schwartz, visions of Jules and Glenn romping in my head, the fun we'd have; summer was here. And around the turn there came Schwartz's pick-up. I could see him alight. I saw him bend slowly and lift our luggage onto the back of the truck. So, what was wrong? At once I knew. 15
"Are Jules and Glenn here?" I asked. Schwartz barely shook his head. So, I would have to wait for them? They hadn't arrived yet. I would have to spend a day or two alone. Not a pleasing prospect. I was ready for my friends. For the summer.16
"They ain't comin'," Schwartz said. 17
"When? Today? This week?" I was confused. Why couldn't they be here today? Now!18
"They ain't comin' this summer," Schwartz said, as he got in his truck. And one of the darkest clouds of my early life descended, enveloping me. I was left to contend with and resolve one of the most shocking and unexpected developments I could have imagined. My friends, whom I had anticipated for months, who had constituted summer, would not be coming. At all. "This summer," Schwartz said. I would be alone. It would be a different summer. It would be empty. Riding to the farmhouse I felt betrayed, hurt, hopeless. Summer had come and gone in the few moments since Schwartz's pick-up had arrived and I was left with sadness. It was as if I had paid for something, taken it away, but on opening the package found it to be vacant. Jules and Glenn would not be coming up… at all. There would not be summer as it was last year. I was alone.19
So that was it: the reason for the feelings of sadness as I thought back to that late June day at the train depot, as my mother and I awaited Schwartz's pick-up; as what had promised to be a wonderful recap of a past summer collapsed and died.20
Decades later now, it had taken more than two additional years before I went beyond the town of Narrowsburg into the hills of Cochecton and Lava to find Hoffman Road and Schwartz's farm. 21
I passed the old Lava fire house and pulled over alongside a shoulder where a gray haired man was mowing his lawn. He remembered the farm, old man Schwartz, and Schwartz' son Daniel, who was killed in the war. (That had been a tragedy which had always hung over the farm in the years after the war.) And he recalled the people, who had stayed at the farm in the early fifties, the reason being his corner was where the postman, not wishing to negotiate the long dirt road to the farm, left the mail. The man's name was Kent. He said a little memorial to some of the old timers had been erected at the top of Hoffman Road. 22
As he had said, there in the brush, at the top of Hoffman Road was a wooden table, a bench, and a plaque nailed to a tree with about two dozen names engraved on it. One name stood out. I had noticed a Skinner Road driving beyond Narrowsburg that afternoon. The name was familiar, of course. Skinner was Schwartz's good friend. Schwartz was forever going to see "old man Skinner" about something. Skinner, who was old in 1950, now, a half century later, had a road named after him; he was engraved on a plaque; a town father. I didn't see any other names I recognized and I drove down the path.23
I passed a large lot with a couple of trailers on it and not much more. Nothing appeared familiar and I thought I must have gone astray. That was when I saw it. The old shed. It was where Schwartz kept his venerable Ford pick-up. The shed had always been directly across from the farm house with its concrete pillars and several steps leading to the house. But now, there was no house. The ancient edifice was gone. The shed stood alone, but it remained where it had always been. 24
It was difficult to believe, but dead ahead was where my mother had picked berries; off to my left and up the hill was the pine forest; to my right was the site of an old log fence where Jules, Glenn, a young girl named Carol and I posed for a group picture. It was the afternoon I had got stung by a wasp.25
Beyond the fence was a brook. I didn't see it, but traces of it had to exist somewhere. There were boulders and slabs of rock alongside of it and a giant oak with some low branches over the water, a few feet from the edge. Jules, Glenn and I used to jump from the rocks to the branch and swing over the water, then jump back onto the rocks. It was quite a dare the first time we tried it and a proud feat when each of us had accomplished it. Thereafter, that first summer, any newcomers to the group had to prove themselves by jumping from the rocks to the branch and back to the rocks again. 26
I was playing alone; Jules and Glenn were not there that second summer. I walked down to our haunt by the brook and stood on the jumping-off boulder, gazing a few feet away at the low lying branch, inviting, over the water. No one was there now. It wasn't like last summer, but I could hear the chiding voices urging me up and out. I swung my arms, bounded up and grabbed hold of the branch above the brook. I could still make it. Achievement. I felt free. I began my swing forward to increase momentum for the flight backward when I lost my grip and fell onto the flat rocks and water below. I lay there in a state of near shock. The wind had been knocked out of me, the water was cold and I felt frightened. The jolt I got made me think I had broken myself. I was afraid to try and move. Could I have survived that kind of impact? Now, I thought, I had really done it. And who would find me? Who would know? I would have to get up; have to make it back. And what would my mother have to say? 27
I was fortunate. I had landed flat. I got up, and shaken by a considerable scare, I dripped my way back to the farmhouse. My mother didn't make more of a big deal out of it than just another case of a kid slipping on the edge of a rill and getting wet. But I knew, it all could have ended, stupidly, right there. Another inch. Another moment. Another rock. I had been very lucky. 28
So I stood at the spot, all these years later, looking for the brook. The bed was dried out. But the oak was there and the rocks were strewn about. And fifty years ago, a little boy swung a bit too zealously, almost did himself in, and got the fright of his life. No one saw it, no one knew, no one would ever know.Turning back, I took a last glance at where the farm once was. Summer was over. 29
Author notes
A man visits his past to find what remains indelibly...for him only. What is the meaning of life? What is behind it all? Read NARROWSBURG to find out.
You'll need to give it thought...but it's all there!
For ADDY: Pet Peeve: People who prefer "WOW Awesome" to an honest, forthright critique.
A contest entry
- Quick! Gimme your best end-of-summer prewrite! by miles of smiles.
350 points, ended August 25, 7 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - "Tonight will end without sound..." by Maudlin..
350 points, ends December 13, 33 entries
• next story in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 43 of 43
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I really love your imagery, especially how it was the main component of this piece. I did find it confusing to figure out which summer he was living, though. That was one of my only itches, and I found one or two grammar bits, but nothing to worry about. I really found some of your structuring a tad confusing also, but that might be my own fault. I loved how you described everything, the train, the brook, the friends, and the feelings. You're very vivid in this piece and it's lovely, though, as I said, a bit confusing. =] Thanks for your entry!
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Excellent.
I found this very moving and well composed. You manage to take the reader to these places with you when you write.
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Ooh, I was so there. I saw the dusty oak leaves of summer, with no rain to wash them clean, and the pale, fine dirt at the bottom of the dry creek bed.
I did have a little bit of trouble deciding which summer you were flashing back to, here and there. I did reread it, and figured out what was what, though.
You have a nice voice to your stories that I've not encountered much before, and I find I enjoy broadening my experience by reading your wonderful works. Thank you!. Rewarded 8
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Even with the name hidden because of "contest privacy" or whatever, I knew it was you who had written it, Gary! It's done all up in the realness of your writing style, which I absolutely cherish and adore, and I want to thankthankthank you for entering this in my contest! It has a lifetime's amount of little stories wrapped up in this one piece, and the descriptions were amazing. All the emotions were very real- the anticipation of going back, the disappointment when his friends weren't there, and his sadness of another summer passing.
Overall, this story was FANTASTIC, and good luck in my contest!
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I really, really enjoyed this
Of course, it's written perfectly.
And the plot is really genuine, and a type of writing you don't see here a lot.
Of course, because it's yours.
Great work, as always.
Thank you so much for entering my contest, and I wish you the best of luck!
xoxo
-♥-
Tay
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Awesome story. ^-^ I enjoyed it very much. Your writing is very good.
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hey i'm doing this as i read. the sentence 'june 30, my mother and I...I i think it has one too many commas, needs adjusting. the first paragraph led me to believe you were going to tell about the eight weeks. i think you jumped to soon into the future. you may want to consider moving paragraphs around to help the story flow better. uh.. what is an awl? lol i think it would be better if you lefout the part(that had been a tragedy..) or you could reword the sentence somethin like 'killed in the war, a tragedy that hung over the farm for years...' you used descriptions very well. maybe you could stretch it out a little and use a few more chidhood antedotes. it really has good potential. i would syggest the rewrording and/or shortening of some sentences and maybe move some paragraphs around. But i really think it has the makings of something great.
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Thanks for the comments
An "awl" is a pointy blade, generally found in those "Boy Scout" Camp King penknives which are used for tasks such as making holes in leather or some such tough material...(with the aid of a hammer! lol!)
I realize the flashbacks and some of the dates in this can be confusing...I suppose it is my specious intention to slow the reader down and make him or her think the story through. (Same with the abundance of commas!) Works most of the time...but sometimes not. I think it all comes through in the end though...I hope you enjoyed the overall piece. Sorry to be late getting back to you...I just discovered your comment!
Thanks,
GA
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For some reason, it wouldn't let me applaud the first time. hmmm...
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Well, I said I would comment on this when I had the time, and I finally do.
That was good! I noticed some minor mechanical errors in the beginning, but then I got into the story and didn't notice any more, so I don't know if there actually were any. I loved all of the descriptions in the story, I felt like I could actually see everything the character was seeing. This was very well done, but there were a couple points where the transition from the present to a flashback was unclear and slightly confusing. I'm glad I got around to reading this now, good job!. Rewarded 8
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Poignant memories,
It's never the big stones in life that trip us up; rather it's the round pebbles of our memories that unbalance us back into our youthful past.
You told of this so well in your story. I was quite touched by it. I got so involved in it I don't know if you have any errors or not.
I worried that the two boys had met with some disaster, but they hadn't!
I think that the incident in the final paragraph would have stayed with the boy for the rest of his life. For the first time in his life he felt his own mortality.
A great write. Strong characters.
Thanks for having it here for me to read.
. Rewarded 8
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A nice, nostalgic piece
I must say, I've been seeing your name all over the site lately, and when I saw your story in the Features, I decided "maybe this guy is worth checking out"
I found this story to be quite charming. I've only been around for a couple of decades, but I've had moments like these, when you go back to a place you haven't been in years. An old house I used to live in had two big trees out in front that my brother and I used to climb. I go back 10 years or so later, and, stunned, I see that one is gone. It's a bit sad, really.
Wow, your story actually got an anecdote out of me; you should feel proud!
Anyway, I did have a couple of issues, mostly towards the end of the story. Paragraph 27 is rather sudden in its flashback to the past; perhaps you could smooth this over? For a writer of your skill, that should pose no challenge. Also, the ending itself didn't really bring the story full circle, in my opinion. It seemed like it hasn't been brought to a full conclusion.
Also: Paragraph 22, Line 3-4: In the parentheses, you don't need the phrase "the war"; you could just say "the years afterward."
Overall, though, I'm glad I checked this out, It was a good read and now I'll have to go read some more of your material.
Thanks for sharing,
Russell
. Rewarded 8
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Got a point there...
Thank you for the incisive comments. I do (now) see your point about the somewhat abrupt flashback in paragraph 27. Perhaps it could be remedied by exchanging the first and second sentences in that graph...although then we have another small problem with redundant first person references...I'll work on it...meanwhile, I just hope readers between now and then will make the leap along with the flashback! Thanks.
GA
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Excellent!
Excellent! Through your story, I relived a similar experience during my boyhood, over 70 years ago. Thank you.
. Rewarded 4
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Thank you for messaging me about this story for I thoroughly enjoyed it. There was some very vivid detail, but it was the short phrases like "I was smitten with a deep gloom" that really wow'd me. I look forward to reading more of your work
. Rewarded 4
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Thanks for Returning!
I'm glad you made it too. This, more than any of my stories seems to elicit a mixed reaction. Some readers just can't seem to get into it...past the beginning. Others are..."smitten" and seem to profoundly understand what I was trying to get at. So...I am pleased to count you among those! I hope! (My interpretation of "thoroughly enjoyed!)
GA
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uncertain
I couldn't really get into it, to be honest. I was a little miffed from the first paragraph on and the feeling only increased the more I read. The piece seemed to jump from what was going on to what went on in the past, which really confused me and cut up the flow. Maybe instead of jumping from rememberance to present time, you can put the present time in the beginning, have the character reminisce in the middle, and then have him return to the present and pull out of the past and into the present what he learned then. I dunno. It was tricky for me to read and comprehend. Might I encourage you also to work on sentence structure as well?
It looks like an interesting piece, but I got bogged down, I think, in all the things that my editing-brain wanted to change or help.. Rewarded 8
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I Guess You Can't Please All of the People All of the Time!
And I just try for some! I could see where this time line gets a little tricky...but I didn't mean it to. Still, I thought (as did others) that it WAS followable. (And necessary to the telling of the tale. The two time line recollections are neccessary!
And then of course there's the narrator's telling...which I guess is #3!) Sorry...but sometimes one must read a little slower and more carefully. Some stories are like that. Why paragraph one got to you though, I don't understand. Perhaps it was a nasty day! Happens. Try again sometime. No charge!
GA
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Good Story
I was a little confused at the beginning. Were there two Narrowsburgs, one in Pennsylvania and one in New York? I found this a little dry to read. I think a little more dialogue would have helped to liven it up. The narrator never got the pocket knife? I wasn't certain what the point of the story is.
Andy
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Fixed!
Andy,
Narrowsburgh is in New York, along the PA. border. I can see the confusion...and I fixed it! Thanks for pointing it out. I guess I was too close to that one.
GA
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What a great read! Loved the imagery of searching for/through the past, especially the last part, "So I stood at the spot, all these years later, looking for the brook. The bed was dried out. But the oak was there and the rocks were strewn about. And fifty years ago, a little boy swung a bit too zealously, almost did himself in, and got the fright of his life. No one saw it, no one knew, no one would ever know." Thanks for sharing this!
. Rewarded 8
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YOU WERE/ARE THERE!
Just going by the quote you selected in your comment, you have captured the essence of the story. I'm delighted someone did. I couldn't have asked for more. You "got it" EXACTLY!
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Example.
"So, came June 30, my mother and I, my father was working, boarded a train, pulled away from Washington Heights, and were off to spend eight bucolic weeks in Narrowsburg, New York."
"On June 30, my mother and I boarded a train, pulled away from Washington heights and were off to spend eight bucolic weeks in Narrowsburg, New York. My father was working."
Lots of your writing is indirect because you pack so much into your sentences. It can be burdensome to a reader. There are plenty of examples -
Wow, I really loved this story. You have a very distinctive style, and came up with a great plot. I love the setting, and I'd really like to read more of your work.
. Rewarded 4
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Sophisticated voice, but prevaricating throughout. The funny thing is, your work is still somewhat effective, perhaps because you use such short paragraphs and don't indulge in too many wasteful words. The active voice would help your work tremendously.
. Rewarded 6
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GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!
WOW! That was amazing. I felt like I was walking in his shoes. Great job on this write and keep up the great work. I'd like to read more of your stories!
. Rewarded 4
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I enjoyed it, i like it how the boy did the same as you and no one saw it, good read!
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Hmm!
..."The boy did the same as me...and no one saw it!..." Hmm!
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haha this reminds me a little of stories people have told me about their summers. Well written!
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yay! ^_^ that was fun. I've always liked reading about summer vacations and such. Especially when there's kids in it. Summer. It's practically summer FOREVER at my place. We ain't got seasons. I've never seen a brook or an oak tree before. Heck I've never even been to a farm before! ^_^ This sorta gave me a vivid image of summer!
. Rewarded 6
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Extremely well written!
This takes me back to my own summer in the 50's. We as a family stayed at my Cousins Cottage on the shores of Lake Ontario. Beautiful. I have also gone back and ow! how time changes, hurts. There is nothing there of the 50's. The land was sold to developers who built a huge residential development. Million dollar homes. You cannot go back. Ever. Time does indeed change everything. Sadness lives hand in hand with our past. This was and is VERY GOOD. I liked it much!. Rewarded 8
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SYMPATICO
Thanks for traveling back with me...tough THESE DAYS to find anyone who was back there THEN...much less anyone who REMEMBERS NOW. Thanks for the sentiments. It's all about understanding.
GA
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A delightful read, full of emotion, with pleasant touches of humor.
It did take awhile to seriously embark on the journey, and finding the farm wasn't easy. It wasn't there anymore. LOL but a bit sad.
It was also my habit to keep at least four or five days behind so I could occasionally annihilate more than one or even two days at a time. LOL You know my urchins still do this only I think they start on the first day school starts.
An enjoyable find Gary, for a hot sticky August day. I came in from my air-conditioned car and logged on in my air-condition office and never raised a sweat until you described that summer in 1950. You are very convincing (grin).
You mentioned the meaning of life is hidden in this piece…hmm?
The male narrator desired to find a past that was gone forever, just as the boy went back to discover anticipated summer fun with last year’s friends couldn’t happen. So then the meaning of life is change? I can buy that.
Change is always waiting to create new pathways in our lives—we don’t get to recapture what had been. Even the child’s attempt to recreate one of their last season’s games alone, proves dangerous; not only did he fail but realized that he could have been injured or killed.
(The shed stood alone, but it remained where it had always been. ) Always something to remind us of what once was.
The flow was smooth, and the characters life-like with natural sounding dialogue.
. Rewarded 8
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EXPLANATORY POST SCRIPT
Thanks so much for reading this. And to reward your efforts and inquisitiveness...I shall impart to you the answer to your query about my claims: Yes, "Change" is certainly a part of it all, but I had in mind something more specific than general change. This is a tale about ANTICIPATION...DISAPPOINTMENT...LOSS...ALONENESS...(the real fright suffered by the narrator)and...LONELINESS... (the latter two being separate from one another...although aloneness might sometimes generate loneliness. Sadly, when all is said and done in our daily workadays and amusements in this world, this is what we all fear...and, again, sadly, the way it will all end. Not with a bang...but, thank you, T.S.E., a whimper!
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brilliant, of course
The descriptions, vivid memories..emotional ups and downs...very real. But I also read it through the eyes of a farmer's daughter whose life is "flip side opposite" of this story. I only hope that some day, I'll have the courage to write my version. Your writing is a challenge to me to keep at it...to add the details I omit. Thanks for writing this. Rewarded 6
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Wow! This was great. I really loved it. The idea of going back to a place that is filled with memories of your past is really great. I loved this story. Wonderfully done. God Bless!
. Rewarded 4
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If you LOVED it...there's probably a good reason!
I appreciate the accolade...but it is my hope that you got what REALLY lies behind this trip back. It is not merely a walk down old memory lane...It is a lot more. I DO feel confident, however, judging by your passionate response, that you are on track.
GA
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Good story
The story displayed nice vivid details of the surroundings. I could picture the scenes I was reading. I know the story was about a man visiting his past, but why didn't Glenn and Jules come that summer? You can't leave us hanging Gary.
. Rewarded 4
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WHAT IS IMPORTANT? THINK!
Why in the world people are concerned with why Jules and Glenn failed to show is beyond me. It is NOT important in the scheme of things. It is not really a critical point in this story. What IS IMPORTANT is the effect their failure to show up for narrator's anticipated summer had on our story teller. C'mon! Anything...any one of thousands of events could have prevented the boys from showing up. This is UNIMPORTANT...and has NOTHING to do with the story. It has NOTHING to do with HOW narrator FEELS! He STILL feels LOSS...he is STILL ALONE...he must STILL deal with his aloneness, disappointment and lonliness! Don't you see? You must search out what IS and what is NOT important in a story. Don't focus on silly, trivial things. Try to understand WHAT you are reading for? WHAT is the message in this story? Why the boys didn't show? C'mon!
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I see its a trip down the memory lane.Its quite a simple story, told simply.Enjoyed reading it.I wonder why his friends didnt turn up...
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smitten-->technically correct usage, but it's the 6th meaning of the word! Reads awkwardly
Every day of the summer, the fields and pine forests submitted to us and our revelry, we camped out, we hiked. weird word choice in submitted and the end might want to be another sentence...
Lava Fire Department Fair (Fair/Fire) it is a mouthful maybe the Lava fair, sponsored by the fire department?
walked through the heated August afternoon as it baked the final days of summer.--> I like that a lot
then; school--the second must be an entire sentence or the beginning of a list
post man-->postman
You could enter this in that contest that is all about writing a story with the author as the main character :-)
What do you think, do you think there is a market for selling memories? -
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OK! I'm not proud!
Fixed "we hiked and camped out!"..."post joined man!" But...The Fire Dept Fair was the Fire Dept. Fair! What was...was! Can't mess with fact! I hope you could lay your red pencil down long enough to take the Narrowsburg 50's trip with our narrator friend. Did you? Or were you mired in red?
GA
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