Swing and a Miss

It was the last game of the summer.


The village was gathering around the field, settling in with cold lunches and soft drinks, spreading blankets and watching the makeshift teams warm up.  It was a near perfect day for baseball - the sun was high and cool ocean breezes drifted over us while fluffy, white clouds drifted overhead.  The sky was a deep blue and startling bright.  The teams took their places, Uncle Shad fired his starter pistol, and the game commenced.



Strike!  Rowena shouted at the first pitch, earning a modest grin from the mound and a collective glare from the dugout.  


Nana dished out cold chicken and potato salad, sweet pickles and olives, bottles of root beer.  My mother unwrapped slices of brown bread spread with butter and homemade blackberry jam.  We ate from paper plates and in a lapse of protocol strictly reserved for such occasions, drank right of the bottles.


Strike two!  Rowena yelled from behind home plate and the infield moved in slightly.


There was ginger ice cream in miniature dixie cups with tiny, flat wooden spoons and baskets of wild strawberries glazed with sugar.  Warm and well fed, feeling as if life could hardly get any better, we sprawled on the grass with my grandmother overseeing us from her lawn chair, her knitting in her lap.  My brothers began a game of cards and the dogs, full of scraps and sunshine, slept side by side and nose to nose.


There was a sudden crack of a bat as one of the Tiverton boys connected solidly with a pitch.  Heads turned but the ball drifted left and into foul territory, just a few feet from the tree line.


Three and two!  Rowena called loudly and the Tiverton boy shrugged and returned slowly to home plate.


I found myself getting sleepy and leaning back against the dogs' warm bodies I closed my eyes.  I could smell the salt air and the grass, feel Fritz and Lady breathing quietly, hear the tinny sound of country music from a far off radio.  I listened to the shouts of the players and the crowd cheering.


Strike three!  Rowena's voice cut through the afternoon haze, Yer out!


I don't remember who won or lost that summer afternoon.  Truth to tell, it didn't matter much.  What I do remember is the sights and sounds of summer, the coming together of an entire village and a childhood that I wished would last forever.