I spent several years in Alabama when I was growing up. Daddy was career Air Force, and his career path took us through Montgomery when I was 4, 9, and 12.

My Mama was born and raised in Alabama, and I’m sure my childhood upbringing had a lot to do with her memories of summers in the south.

We didn’t spent any time indoors, that’s for sure. We would get up, eat breakfast, and head outside. Many days we were off and rolling on our bikes, and we knew not to come home until lunch time. Once we had lunch, we would go out again, not to return until Mama called us for dinner. After dinner, we were outside until the street light came on, playing kick the can, or hide and seek.

When I was 9, we lived in a new development. The air was heavy with the scent of red clay mud that was being moved around to make way for new homes.

We’d listen for the call of frogs and toads, and find puddles deep enough to be swarming with tadpoles. Often, the hot humid days would dry up small puddles, and we’d rescue the squirming tadpoles from a certain, muddy clay death.

We’d scoop them into flat Tupperware containers, lined with creek bed silt and rocks, and filled with water from the garden hose. We’d deposit the slimy dark amphibians into the water, and they would immediately swim all around. When we got home, we’d settle them on the back porch in the shade, where we could watch them as they developed. Every evening after dinner, we’d sprinkle dry oats over them to feed them.

We would spend our days racing our bikes, stopping beneath the wild and heavy laden plum trees. In the relative coolness of the shade, we’d eat plums until we were sick, juices running down our hands. Sugar bees would soon spoil this respite, and we’d wipe our hands on our shirts or shorts, and race off to our next adventure.

After dinner, we’d check on our tadpoles. It was always amazing to watch their tails get shorter, even as little legs began to sprout. We’d place bigger rocks in the plastic home so they could climb them, and in what seemed was no time, they’d be hopping out to a new life.

We would just refresh the Tupperware, and begin again. There was never a dirth of tadpoles.

Such was my childhood made of.