Stories about hope

We grew up in the San Fernando Valley. Canoga Park to be exact. We lived on the top of a hill that looked out from one direction toward Northridge and to another direction “the reservoir”. 

Before homes were built blocking the view, the reservoir was always a place where happenings, happened. 

It was where we would watch the Canadian Honkers rest and refuel. Every Spring & Fall they would honk overhead and land in the water.

It was where fires fueled by dried grasses would whip through & threaten the homes and stables near its edges. 

You could get to the Reservoir two ways. 

Walk through a field or ride your bike. 

In the field below us was a glorious Willow Tree. To get to the tree you would walk down through the tall grasses that would grow up higher than our shoulders at times. 

We could sit in the cool shade of the Willow tree and plan our adventures. Our bikes and Skateboards would take us miles from our home and into the hills surrounding Chatsworth. 

The loop of the reservoir made for a great bike ride. Although I was a little terrified by the thoughts that the Manson family still owned property back there. 

There was also a train tunnel that we could go in and cool off momentarily.  The scent of the tar in the railroad ties combined with the oil left by the train is engrained in my mind forever. 

We spent hours walking the train tracks, looking for treasures. Sometimes running at the sound of the train. Oh, we had fun on our little adventures. 

There were other times when a train was coming that we would walk into the tunnel and pin ourselves against the wall waiting for a train to rumble through. It was absolutely terrifying and absolutely exhilarating. We would scream so loud but you heard nothing but the rumbling of the engines and train cars. 

To think of all we did back then. Grittier times. 

I tell you what. If my boys did the things I used to do I think I would ground them for life. 

Our Mom was none the wiser to our crazy antics. We found ways to fill our days, and she slept peacefully because the house was quiet. 

On those hot summer days, I would head out  with my sister or friends, in tank tops and shorts riding around until it felt as though our legs would fall off. 

We would usually end up walking our bikes up Farralone until we made it back to the little hill down and then up Parthenia where it turned into Farralone again. It was there that we were able to start to peddle and finally head for home. 

Exhausted we would put our bikes in the open garage and either jump into the pool or look to the freezer for popsicles. 

Many occasions our pockets full of trinkets that we had collected. 

One of the things my sister like to bring home were the nails that went into the railroad ties. They were big nails. 3 inches long and heavy.

When I would get under her skin, as I often did, she would chase me around the house threatening to drive the nails through me. I would retreat into my room locking the door behind me, or retreat into our older sister’s room. Her threats were quite effective. 

I was never happy when she brought the nails home with her. 

Chatsworth Park was another summer day favorite.

It was within bike riding distance from the house and there were so many things to do there. 

We could climb the hills that were filled with generous rock formations. It was no easy climb, but our imaginations had us climbing in exotic locations, hiding from unseen enemies and victoriously coming down the paths around the rocks. There were hard ways down and easy ways down. Me, being terrified of heights would look for the easy way. It was a longer walk but I never minded that. Sometimes, if I got stuck, I would slide down on my bottom until I found stable ground beneath me.  My sister Christina was fearless, an she always took the hard way. 

We could follow the creeks and streams looking for Polly wags or frogs as spring rolled into summer. We would search for Acorns under the oak trees to feed to the squirrels. We played frisbee, or laid on the grass looking at the sky, imagining the clouds were animals. We would spin and spin on the playground equipment until we had to lie down from crazy dizziness. 

There was always an ice cream man around, or we would stop on our way home at 7 eleven for Icees and a brain freeze. 

The memories make me smile. I recently drove around the area and stopped in that park. 

It seemed smaller. Everything did. 

The streets were not as wide, the rocks not as tall and the park was not nearly as big as it used to be. My old house even seemed tiny in comparison to the mansion that was etched in my memory. The giant olive trees and pine trees were gone, everything was paved over. It wasn’t the same. 

The big hills I used to walk seemed less steep. Funny how our memories play tricks on us.  Maybe it’s because I am no longer a kid with a wide-open imagination. I certainly miss those carefree easy days. 

While my mom worked nights my summers also got me into trouble. Being the youngest and tending to get picked on, she needed to find me a safe place to go. I’m not sure if she was trying to protect me from my sister or protect my sister from me.

I was enrolled in Summer Camp. 

Camp Sport N Fun had Horses, minibikes, trampolines, swimming, archery, day trips, talent shows, a giant wooden fort. I loved my days there. 

When my mom came home from work, I would be packed and waiting by the door to leave.  Camp started at 9 and ended at 5. I don’t remember ever being bored. 

In swimming, I went from a guppy to a shark. I had to tread water for 45 minutes to achieve shark status. Maybe the counselors were just trying to keep us occupied but I was very proud of being such a good swimmer. 

I also learned to love riding horses and found I was quite good at archery. 

I know camp was a big expense for my mom, I felt bad when I saw how much it cost. I often complain that I didn’t get music lessons, dance lessons, or wasn’t a girl scout. But I was the only child that got to go to a summer camp like this one.  Although I never got to spend the week at Catalina like my friends and sisters did when our church went in the summer. 

My boys grew up in a different time. They were never allowed to travel far on their own. I did let them ride their bikes down our hill to the park as they grew older. The park was across from our fire station, and I knew the eldest who had common sense would keep them safe. I also knew that this was where our favorite UPS man took his lunch break. From time to time I would receive a call. 

“Edie, It’s Rick. He’s fine but your son took a nasty spill on his bike. I’ll hang out with him until you get here.” 

“Edie, It’s Rick, your sons’ friends left him at the park, he’s walking up the hill. I will make sure he get’s home.” 

To think of all the hours I spent roaming the valley without adult supervision. Walking to the mall, walking to Lanark Park, riding my bike for hours without a care in the world. Hanging out at church, when church wasn’t even happening to meet up with friends and go off on another adventure. 

 No cell phone, no way to track your kids where abouts. Times have certainly changed. 

As spring gives way to summer, I see our neighborhood kids running and playing up and down our street. We live near a train track, when I hear the train rumble by and the days grow hotter in our area, and it brings back all the memories of the long hot days of the San Fernando Valley Summers.