And the Garden Hose Was Our Water Fountain
Part of The American Time Capsule — preserving the people, places, products, traditions, and everyday moments that shaped growing up in America before the digital age. This article explores the games, adventures, traditions, music, rites of passage, and neighborhood experiences that defined American childhood.
There was no sweeter sound in childhood than the final school bell in June.
Not the lunch bell.
Not recess.
The last bell.
The one that meant school was officially over.
Three glorious months of freedom stretched out before us.
For kids, summer didn’t feel like a season. It felt like an entire lifetime waiting to happen.
No homework.
No book reports.
No spelling tests.
No teachers.
No alarm clocks.
Just summer.
As that final bell rang, the school doors burst open like a major prison break!
Hundreds of kids poured outside laughing, yelling, shouting, and running toward summer vacation.
For a few wonderful moments, the entire world belonged to us.
Three Months Felt Like Forever
Back then, summer vacation wasn’t six or seven weeks.
It was nearly three full months.
School ended in early June.
It didn’t start again until September.
To a ten-year-old…
That felt like forever.
The days seemed endless.
Every morning held another adventure.
There was never a shortage of things to do—only daylight.
Every evening ended with the streetlights coming on.
Looking back now…
I’m convinced those summers somehow lasted longer than today’s entire years.
The Clock Had Stopped
The last day of school always seemed to last longer than every other school day combined.
The teachers were apparently determined to keep us there until exactly 3:00.
Not 2:55.
Not 2:58.
Three o’clock.
I sometimes suspected they were doing it deliberately.
One final act of torture before turning us loose for the summer.
There couldn’t possibly have been anything left to teach us.
We already knew whether we’d been promoted to the next grade, so there wasn’t much anxiety about report cards.
As far as we were concerned, the school year was over.
There was just one problem.
The clock refused to cooperate.
I’d look up.
2:35.
An eternity later, I’d look again.
2:37.
Surely that couldn’t be right.
I’d stare at the second hand wondering whether the damned thing had stopped.
Around me, every other kid seemed to be suffering from the same affliction.
Nobody cared what was happening at the front of the classroom anymore.
Our minds were already outside.
Then finally…
RIIIIING!
That was it.
Freedom.
I raced out of that school like the Devil himself was chasing me.
Whatever books or papers I happened to be carrying went flying into the air.
“YES!”
I wasn’t alone.
Kids poured out of the building yelling, laughing, throwing things into the air, and celebrating as though we’d all just been released from prison.
To most of my classmates, it was:
“Have a great summer!”
“See you in September!”
Because for many of them, that really was goodbye for nearly three months.
But then there were my closest friends from the neighborhood.
For them, the message was different.
“Let’s go, men!”
School might have been finished for the year, but the day wasn’t finished yet.
We still had hours of daylight.
We raced home, changed if necessary, grabbed our bicycles, and headed right back out.
Mom knew the routine.
It was the last day of school.
She wasn’t expecting to see much of me.
Somewhere in Ferguson, summer vacation was already underway, and I intended to squeeze every possible minute out of that first afternoon.
The only deadline that remained was one Mom didn’t have to remind me about.
Be home when the streetlights come on.
And just like that…
summer had begun.
My Date with Summer School
Well…
Almost every summer.
One year, after third grade, my arithmetic skills apparently needed a little extra attention.
Fractions and I weren’t exactly best friends.
While my buddies were sleeping in, I reported to summer school each morning.
To a kid who had just heard the final bell and thought he’d been granted three months of freedom, summer school seemed like a clerical error that needed to be corrected immediately.
My friends were outside.
I was back at a desk.
Apparently fractions had followed me into summer.
Fortunately, the teachers took pity on us.
I don’t think they wanted to be there any more than we did.
Classes ended early enough that I still had most of the day to play.
I don’t remember learning much about fractions.
I never did make peace with fractions… but I became very good at watching the clock until recess.
I remember being grateful they let us out before lunchtime.
Looking back, I don’t remember summer school doing much to improve my relationship with fractions.
But it did accomplish one thing.
It introduced me to a girl who apparently had just as much trouble with fractions as I did.
Her name was Mary Ann Folkerson.
One afternoon after class, we walked toward home together.
And somewhere along the way…
We held hands.
It was the first time I’d ever held hands with a girl.
I don’t remember whether either of us ever figured out fractions.
I don’t remember what the teacher taught us that summer.
But more than sixty years later, I still remember Mary Ann Folkerson.
So I suppose summer school taught me something after all.
Just not arithmetic.
The Garden Hose Was Our Water Fountain
Summers in Missouri were hot.
Humid.
Sticky.
By lunchtime our T-shirts were soaked with sweat.
Our faces were streaked with dirt.
Our knees had fresh scrapes.
Today someone would probably hand kids bottled water filled with electrolytes.
Not us.
We had something much simpler.
The garden hose.
Going inside wasn’t our first choice.
Besides, once you walked into the house, somebody usually found a chore for you.
Mom might ask you to empty the trash.
Pull weeds.
Set the table.
Or some other terrible chore.
The backyard hose was much safer.
You turned on the faucet.
Waited a few seconds while the hot water that had been sitting inside the hose worked its way out.
Sometimes We Couldn’t Wait
Of course, there was one problem with drinking from a garden hose in the middle of a Missouri summer.
The hose had usually been lying in the sun.
That meant the first water coming out could be surprisingly hot.
The sensible thing was to turn on the faucet and wait a few seconds until the cooler water made its way through the hose.
But sometimes we were too thirsty for sensible.
We’d grab the hose and gulp down those first few mouthfuls of warm—sometimes almost hot—water anyway.
It wasn’t particularly refreshing.
But we were thirsty now.
Once that immediate thirst was satisfied, we suddenly developed enough patience to wait a few seconds for the cold water to arrive.
Then we’d drink our fill.
No bottled water.
No insulated tumbler.
No electrolyte mix.
No concern about whether the hose was BPA-free.
Just a kid standing in somebody’s yard, drinking water from a rubber hose that had been baking in the Missouri sun.
And somehow…
even the hot water tasted pretty good when you were thirsty enough.
It tasted…
Well…
Like a garden hose.
A little rubber.
Maybe a hint of rust.
Probably a little Missouri dirt mixed in for good measure.
We didn’t care.
It was cold.
It was free.
And it meant we could get right back to playing.
I’ve often joked that if someone bottled garden hose water today and sold it as an organic electrolyte drink…
Somebody would probably pay eight dollars for it.
We Didn’t Want the Day to End
Nobody had a watch or any interest in the time.
One game led to another.
One neighborhood became three.
One adventure became five.
Long before smartphones and GPS, getting a little lost was simply part of growing up, which is why we truly were The Last Generation That Got Lost.
Every day seemed to last forever.
Eventually the streetlights flickered on.
That was our signal.
Time to head home.
Sunburned.
Sweaty.
Grass-stained.
Hungry enough to eat everything Mom put on the table.
We didn’t need sleeping pills.
After running around outside for twelve hours…
Sleep came naturally.
Summers We’ll Never Forget
Every generation has its own memories.
Ours just happened to include bicycles.
Three-month summer vacations.
Neighborhood baseball games.
Tree forts.
Garden hoses.
And enough freedom to make lifelong memories without realizing we were making them.
Looking back, it wasn’t really the hose that mattered.
Or even the last day of school.
It was the feeling.
For three magical months every year…
The world felt enormous.
Our responsibilities were almost nonexistent.
And every sunrise promised another adventure.
If you ask me what summer tasted like…
I’d probably smile and tell you…
It tasted just a little bit like garden hose water.
💬 Your Turn
What did summer taste like to you?
Was it garden hose water, popsicles, watermelon, lemonade, or something only your neighborhood remembers?
Tell us what made summer unforgettable where you grew up.
📦 Continue Exploring The American Time Capsule
Summer wasn’t just a season—it was a way of growing up. Explore more memories of the television, breakfast rituals, hobbies, and simple pleasures that defined childhood in America.
- 📺 Saturday Morning Cartoons Were an Event
Before streaming, every kid waited all week for the greatest television event of childhood. - 🥣 The Cereal Wars
The sugary breakfasts, cartoon mascots, and prizes that made Saturday mornings unforgettable. - 🚲 When Childhood Was a Hobby
Before smartphones, kids collected, built, explored, and stayed busy with imagination. - 🎵 The TV Themes We Never Forgot
The unforgettable television themes that instantly transported us back to our childhood living rooms.
← Return to 📦 The American Time Capsule
Bunker Rule
Summer wasn’t measured by calendars—it was measured by scraped knees, bicycle miles, grass stains, and how long you could stay outside before the streetlights came on.
Bunker Notice
Childhood has changed with each generation, but the memories remain timeless. This story isn’t about saying one era was better than another—it’s about preserving the everyday moments that made growing up in America so unforgettable.
I remember the last day being the school picnic at Chain of Rocks Amusement Park.
I only went to Chain of Rocks Amusement Park when I was very young and I remember stories about the big roller coaster burning down and the park closed shortly after that. My school (Central) went to Holiday Hill for school picnics and I think it was just a few weeks before school let out for summer. Thanks for stopping by T, always appreciate your comments.