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The best days of my childhood by Sandy Olson
 

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  • were spent riding my turquoise Schwinn in and out of the alleys and up and down the hills of my seven year old world; making forts with my brother deep in our backyard under the gnarly old hedge; lying on the wide backseat of my mom’s 1951 white Dodge watching the electric poles go by; swaying in the hammock in the backyard after dark waiting for the stars to move in the Milky Way; and fishing in Assawoman Bay at sunrise on early September mornings.

    When I was 12 I had a room on the third floor of my grandparents house. The windows opened out. I would lean into the night and listen to the sounds: crickets, dogs barking, the clatter of dishes being put away, the clang of metal trash can lids , the hum of the distant traffic.

    I was content.

    I bought my first camera in 1969. I was 24.

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