The sun will soon rise, along with the heat and humidity. An early start to the first day of summer vacation means only one thing—up and out of the door early, for there’s no time to waste.

Bryson leaps out of bed, throws on his shorts and a dirty T; the same he’d worn the day before. There’s no time to brush his teeth or comb his hair. He scarfs down a pop tart, grabs his bag and pole, and out the door he flies – his trusty sidekick, Tater, following right behind. A golden retriever, Tater was born the runt of the bunch. The breeder wasn’t going to sell him as they thought his days were numbered. Well, they were; he’ll be celebrating his third birthday next Sunday—1,095 days for those counting. Anyway, due to his small size and tan color, Bry said he looked like a tater tot, and the name stuck!

His flip flops somehow manage to stay on his fleeing feet. He hops upon his stallion and sets out across the great divide—actually, it’s a blue metallic Schwinn. With a pump of the pedals, down the driveway he goes. Midway, he turns left; cutting across the lawn. And of course, his trusty companion galloping nearside. By this time, coffee should be brewing just in time for dad to fill a cup before hitting the road for work. Maybe Bry will have a fish tale or two to share when his dad gets home tonight.

It’s a short trek to the pond; less than half a mile from the back door. The homestead is modest as it is humble….just like the family who calls it home, and the generations before them. While it isn’t a working farm, a menagerie of critters roam about. The Chamberlin’s have three horses for riding, some chickens for the eggs and the traditional ambiance, and even a goat, a pig and a cow—all rescued souls.

The family is a trio who enjoys the outdoors. Klare, Bryson’s mom, has an endless bouquet of flowers ready for the picking. She’s a a Master Gardner besides being part time accountant for a small business in town. Her husband, Mark, is an IT manager at the local hospital. He grew up on the farm and is proud to be able to share his childhood blessings with his family; especially his son. Bry, has inherited his love for farm-life from his daddy, along with a few of his sayings like, Hard work keeps ya humble and Dirt keeps you anchored to this earth.

Coasting in on his blue steed, Bryce and Tater arrive at the pond. The front of the pond is wide and open, but as one follows around the sides, there are stones and trees that begin to fill in as a border, making one feel like they’re walking into a Bob Ross painting. The surface of the water is calm and clear; reflecting all God’s glory.

He makes his way around the back—the best spot in town. Canopied by trees, the temps are cooler, as is the tender green grass that’s littered with wildflowers. The fallen log along the shoreline will be his final destination. There’s a small clearing about 40 feet away that is open to the eyes above…. standing there in the shade and looking at the sun’s cascading rays beaming through; he can feel the magic. Many lads his age wouldn’t appreciate the contrast of the beauty around him to that of concrete cities where it’s about the hustle and bustle, but he did. “Nurture this world, as it nurtures you”, his daddy always says. At the age of eight, he is growing to be quite the little philosopher.

He gets right to work, laying out a small blanket where Tater quickly claims his spot. Bry sets down his pack and opens it up, taking out a canteen and a bag of pretzels. He also takes out a ziplock bag holding a light assortment of fishing gear; he didn’t feel like lugging his tackle box today. And, so, he slaps on a lure and casts it on out, “Now, Tater, we’ll see who wants breakfast.”

It’s not long before the little red and white ball bobs in the water. He begins to reel; the hook comes back empty. “That’s okay, Tater, that’s part of the fun.” Dad always told him that it wouldn’t be much fun if they just hop in the net…..good things takes time. Besides, there was something peaceful about sitting, casting and reeling the day away. So he kicked back…he had all afternoon. Zing, out goes the line. Just as the lure broke the water, a noise comes from behind.

Tater rises to his feet, letting out a low growl as he stands between the boy and whatever, or whoever, is beyond the foliage. “It’s okay, boy”, Bry says, reassuring him. Steady footsteps crunch the fallen leaves carpeting the worn path; twigs snap. The large shrub before the two amigos rustles before they spy the face that suddenly emerges.

“So, any luck?”

Tater takes off, like his happy go-lucky self. Bryce’s eyes pop with excitement, “Dad!” Suddenly, he’s trying to figure out what day of the week it is….”What are you doing here…thought you’d be at work”. Mark had made plans to take the day off and spend the first day of summer vacation with Bry.

Mark puts down a huge bag and sits on the log next to his son. His line is prebaited; he gives it a throw. Dad’s natural arm…he can make that line sail for what seems forever, thought Bry. Smooth and effortlessly. One day, he hoped he’d come close.

The time passes with simple talk and quiet moments. Soon, their bellies begin to rumble, but Dad thought of everything. He brought chips, sodas, hotdogs and all the fixings. Off to the side was a bag of precut wood and two large sticks for roasting the dogs. He even brought a bowl of cut of watermelon – a former Scout, Mark prided himself on being “always prepared”. Even Tater was going to be a happy camper.

They build a fire, make small talk and soon feed their faces. The day just couldn’t have been any better; well, except one thing…. They look at one another and then at Tot. Then, they count to three and shout, “Go!”, as they race towards the pond. They’re the last ones in and the first ones out; no match for a water dog like Tater. The pond’s mirrored surface becomes rippled from the splishing and splashing; the sound of their ruckus and the barking rises above the trees.

The shifting sun tells them it’s time. They gather their things and clean up camp; making sure the fire is out. Bryce pushes his bike as they walk together on their way home. Kicking rocks, telling tales and Mark bragging about his son’s fine casting arm. “You’re gonna be better than your ol’ dad before long”, he says. Bry smiles. He knows he’ll never be that good, but is happy to be second to the greatest man he’ll ever know.

It was a good day. That’s until they open the door and Klare tells them both, “get upstairs and take showers before you touch a thing.” But that was okay, because the house smells like fresh baked chocolate chip cookies, which are worth at least a little soap and water. It’s going to be quick suds, b’cause those cookies just can’t wait.

The first day of summer vacation; priceless.

-v.