Growing up, I had a couple of close friends who lived in Campbell, Alabama – a small rural community in northwest Clarke County.

They were sisters. Our families were friends – my parents with her parents, my brother with theirs. We attended the same church and in many ways lived similar lifestyles.

We were country people. Modest, mostly. We knew about helping with gardens and housework. We thought learning to cook would score us a husband someday.

During the summer, when we were teenagers, we would take turns staying at each other’s houses for a few days. We would divide the small musts of the day between us early, freeing us for the next several hours, as long as there wasn’t peas to help shell.

Thomasville was small, but Campbell was smaller. It was about 30 miles from Thomasville. It offered a post office, a country store, a couple of old houses, and a church that met once a month – all about within sight of one another at the two crossroads.

I lived out from Thomasville in the community of Sandflat. They lived off of the main road through Campbell on a narrow red dirt road. Even now, I remember it as one of the most quiet places I have ever known.

Campbell also had a rolling library that came through once a month. I was never at their house when the book mobile came through. I would only hear them talk about it. I found it most interesting and wished a rolling library would visit Sandflat.

The closest we got to that level of excitement in Sandflat was when my uncle would stop by while driving the bread truck. He always gave us chocolate Twinkies.

We would read our way through the heat of the day as clouds floated across the sky. We would often exchange books before the date they had to be returned.

It was our way of traveling I suppose, as it was and still is for many.

By midafternoon the bookmarks would be placed, and we would help with supper – setting the table and such – before having supper, and washing the dishes afterwards.

As soon as the last dish had been dried and put away, we would file out of the backdoor into the dusk. The glare and the heat of the day would be on its retreat.

They lived on a hill locals called a mountain, and from it the panoramic sky of colors would follow the sunset – fiery orange and deep purple. Birds would fly their final circles for the day, before disappearing into their hidden nests nestled within green branches.

We would walk down the narrow dirt road, talking, our brothers not too far behind doing the same. Their little brother would run back and forth between us, being a little brother – seeking attention from us girls while trying to talk tough and fit in with the boys.

The last light of day would eventually fade to night.

The moon would rise, and crickets and frogs and cicadas would follow suit, beginning their nightly serenade.

We would watch heat lighting in the distance.

We would count lightning bugs, and watch for falling stars…with our wishes waiting.

Those years, like summer itself, were fleeting times. Seldom does the idleness of August not remind me.

Amanda Walker is a columnist and contributor with AL.com, The Birmingham News, Selma Times Journal, Thomasville Times, West Alabama Watchman, and Alabama Gazette. Contact her at [email protected] or at https://www.facebook.com/AmandaWalker.Columnist.