Rocketman

I love our neighborhood. It was a huge factor in why we chose the home we did when we moved. On that dark and cold night on December 23rd when we moved in four years ago, we were depending on all the lights on houses and Christmas trees in windows and sledding tracks down the street to be sure signs of kids. A lot of them.

Spring came that year and the kids came out of the woodwork. And in the last year, there's even a few more to add to the bundle. They range in age from 3 (Everly is the youngest!) to 12. There's boys and girls spread over the years and dispersed throughout the schools of Bellingham. But when they're here, they flock together. If someone sets up a sprinkler, within minutes there's 6 more to join them. If someone finds summer berries by the creek, they're all running down. They're jumping from swingset to swingset, sharing all their popsicles out of the freezer and promising "My mom said you could spend the night!" (usually, she didn't). They are a neighborhood tribe. I grew up in a neighborhood tribe. That tribe saved me when I was nervous to ride the school bus. The elders of my tribe gave me a ride to highschool when I was a freshman. The younger of my tribe kept me playing in my backyard fort long past my prime.

So, I can't help but smile when I see this little tribe forming in our own neighborhood. The gathering effect when one child's excitement ricochets throughout the cul de sac. This week Jeremy broke out a rocket launcher a friend from work made. He and Parks made the first rocket and then started honing it and within a few minutes, kids, followed by curious parents made their way out. All the kids started making their own rockets and launching them to see how high they could go (200 feet!!) and the sounds of oh's and awe's made my heart swell. This is the stuff summer memories are made of.