The Endless Summer Fountain

These are the days of summer, and I'm dreading their looming end. Wake up slow and unrushed. Big, leisurely breakfasts, like fried eggs and toast, pancakes with fresh blues, smoothies in every possible fruit-combination imaginable. Cass gets immeasurable pleasures in crafting intricate, swirling handlebar smoothie mustaches across his upper lip, rushing to the bathroom mirror to inspect his upturned purple work. Ollie mimics him, spreading the slurry around his mouth with his fingers. Everything is berry-stained.

We’re trying to take it easy, and most days, plans are better left unmade, outings spontaneous. Greenfield Village, Belle Isle or the Riverfront, I ask. C’mon let’s go. Hurry, before we miss the train! Ollie makes a choo-choo sound, and Cass asks hopefully about the giant water slide at Belle Isle. I need to take him there before it’s over.

We play with the hose in the backyard until it feels too small. We take walks—to the playground, to the new coffee shop—wearing out busy legs for an afternoon nap. We load up the bike trailer--sigg bottles, nectarines, bananas, towels for the fountain, money for Superman ice cream—and we make our way to the end of the riverfront path, past the fishermen, the lighthouse and the secret spot we like to stop and lay on the rocks. We have the bulk of the stretch to ourselves, except when we don’t: a trail of adorable, waddling fluffy baby ducks crosses the road ahead of us. We wait, pass them and circle around, watching them disappear into the tall grasses.

Ollie’s first summer trip to the fountain (has it really been a few months already?) reminds me so much of Cass, which makes me think about how fast this thing goes—summer, childhood, life—and all the kids who came before us, playing in water on a hot summer day. With a hose, under a faucet, in a puddle, or in an old laundry bucket. It's such a simple pleasure. Do kids really need anything else? Maybe ice cream. And a carousel ride.

He’s timid at first, feet peddling backward onto the hot pavement. The water dries off, coaxing him back toward the fountain. It starts out low and he gains confidence, but when the stream of water unexpectedly explodes in his face, you might think he was being sprayed with sulfuric acid. The pattern repeats itself until eventually, there’s exuberance. Screams of glee! Running with abandon! More water, Mama! MORE MORE MORE MORE!

The huge, tricked-out sprinkler that spouts from the ground like magic is this summer's fun staple--we go at least once a week. And today, I feel relieved that we’re not sitting in the back of an old-fashioned, horse-pulled buggy right now sweating profusely and breathing in the smell of hot horse dung. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go to the pool.