Down in the boondocks.

As a kid, we lived in a rural New Hampshire neighborhood, which we often thought was boring. What we didn’t know was that our tame surroundings provided us freedom to romp around town, without supervision. Our mother would urge us to get out and explore, completely certain that the town was safe enough without a guardian. During our summer vacation, my brother and I would rally together the other kids in the neighborhood, to ride our bikes to adventure.

A five minute bike ride would get us a few streets away, to a dirt road, without a street sign. At the end of this unpaved road was a rock quarry that we would frequent. My brother and is destructive friends would climb the rocky hillside to throw rocks and watch them smash against each other. I would break away with the other girls, to scour the area for beautiful rock treasures to bring home to my collection. It wouldn’t be a trip to the quarry if someone didn’t come home with a scrape on their knee or arm, from tripping over one of the rocks.

A twenty minute bike ride would bring us to Calef’s Country Store, home of the famous “snappy old cheese”. Although I was not at the age where I could appreciate exotic cheeses, the store had other delicacies. A corner of the store was devoted to showcasing a plethora candy, which we would buy by the brown- paper-bag. For a penny each we could fill our bags with Tootsie rolls and their fruit flavored counterparts.  

A little further down the “main” street was the local, seasonal ice cream parlor. Jenny’s was only a quarter of a mile away from the country store. The owners new us all by name and what flavor of ice cream we would regularly indulge in. After our cold treats were devoured and the brain freeze from eating so fast diminished, we would head back home.

The Boondocks of my neighborhood and all of its wonder, was a safe place for children to grow up. As I grew older and moved far away, I became able to appreciate my boring hometown of Barrington, New Hampshire.