In this delightful image, we remember a long-ago time when the world was a symphony of youthful shouts, glorious blue skies and secret hideaways in the trees. On such carefree days friends gathered to fish awhile, then climb the high hill to test their homemade kites against the brisk spring breeze. The wagon, last to arrive up from the lake, brings an ample supply of cold pop and other tempting picnic treats.

Close observers will note a frayed rope swaying in the wind beneath the tree house. The old tire swing has become a casualty of last winter's storms, but it will soon be replaced.

The kites soar high and free, not at the end of new-fangled nylon line, but securely controlled by thick cotton string. The string has broken many times but is easily fixed, the knots' bulky presence visible even at this distance.