As a child, I felt that summer was meant to be a lazy time to recuperate from the perils of school. From September to June, I read boring accounts of the War of 1812, trudged through fractions, pondered the difference between a metaphor and simile, and ducked the dodge ball in gym class. Summer break was my soothing escape from reading, writing, and rigid schedules.

I lived amongst the hollers and hills in North Georgia with Momma, Daddy, and my two sisters. Natural springs fed area wells and supplied creeks with cold blue water. Our house was right off a dusty red clay road, and I remember how excited everyone was when the city finally laid that first layer of gravel and tar.

Back then there were more laborers with suntans than business folks with cell phones, and life was less stressful and lots more interesting. To me, summertime seemed to last for years.

Arrogant Bantam roosters screeched and seemed to challenge the sun as it crept above the horizon. During breakfast, my sisters and I glared at each other over cereal boxes - morning came too soon for us and we were eager to pick a fight.

Every now and then, Momma would take one of us girls to work with her at the carpet mill where she was an office manager. She wanted us to know how to file, answer the phone, and do other office work. What I remember the most was when Momma worked late and when the production in the mill stopped, I'd sneak off to the warehouse and climb on the mountains of rolled carpet.

If Momma didn't take us to work, we had to either plant or pick in the garden under Granny's close supervision. I hated pulling weeds the most, although bean picking was just as bad. Picking strawberries, peaches, and corn wasn't so terrible because images of strawberry shortcake, peach cobbler, and roasted corn filled my head as I filled my poke. Granny was always watching me, though. May the Good Lord help the child that picked a strawberry before its time!

When the sun rose high, I headed down to the spring for a leisurely swim. The cool water awakened my appetite, and I'd rush home for a bologna sandwich, chips, and slice of watermelon on the side. Sometimes my sisters and I would pool our allowances and ride our bikes a mile down the road into town. We'd buy hamburgers from Don's Sundries, and go next door to Daddy's barber shop to eat. For dessert, Daddy would give us each fifteen cents for the coke machine. He always had salted peanuts and we'd pour them in our cokes. We didn't do this too often because Daddy always put us to work sweeping clippings or folding towels after we finished our cokes.

The lazy humid afternoon seemed to last forever because I never found enough to do. Resting on a bed of pine needles in the shade, I breathed in the perfume of the roses and honeysuckle, mesmerized by the shimmering air above the road and forlorn cries of Bobwhite quail.

Often there were baby animals to pet down at Granny's. New kittens and puppies mewled and squeaked as they sniffed for their Mommies. In the hayloft, I searched for nests and took inventory of all the fuzzy ducklings and chicks that hatched.

Toward the end of the day, I caught locusts, crickets, and lizards and put them in a mayonnaise jar to use as bait, and then I loaded it along with my tackle and cane pole into my bicycle's basket. I fished for bream and catfish in the cow pond over in one of Grandma Whaley's pastures, walking extra careful so that I didn't slip on a cow pie.

Depending on the size of my catch, I'd either throw them back or put them on my stringer. I fished until I heard Momma yell for supper. Grandma Whaley's pasture was a good half mile or so away, but living in the hollers made it easy to hear her voice echo off the hills, "Angel! Supper!" And I knew by her tone that I better high tail it home - quick.

Leaving my catch (if the fish were unlucky enough to cross my path) in a five-gallon bucket and fishing gear at the front porch with Daddy, I'd go in and wash up for supper. Daddy would nail the catfish to a tree then skin, filet, wrap them in plastic bags, and freeze them.

While Daddy put up the fish, Momma took fresh vegetables and fruits from our garden and worked her magic. Fried okra, sliced tomatoes, spinach salad, mashed potatoes, roasted corn, green beans, sweet tea, hot cornbread, and peach cobbler adorned our table.

We'd pray and then get down to some serious eating. Sometimes after supper, I'd go with Daddy to give out vegetables from the garden to our neighbors or sit bored on the porch and listen to the adults jaw about politics.

Once home, I often caught fire flies and put them in a Mason jar so that I could watch them before I went to sleep at night. In bed, I heard the night sounds outside - the sawing of the cicadas and the mountain breeze stirring the trees - perfect music to sleep by.