Three Hills, in my childhood memories, has dimpled sidewalks, the kind that gather rain in their little square pockets and make for interesting shades of black and grey as the decades roll past. The kind that tell a story about pride of workmanship by town crews and sometimes have street names etched at intersections. The kind of sidewalks that gladly accept pine needles dropping from shady boughs ... then turn those offerings into a beautiful resiny smell to enjoy on a hot afternoon.
Walking home from the swimming pool when I visited my grandparents, I'd stop to listen to the church bells chiming out their Westminster tune because Grandpa told me there was never an excuse to be home late because you'd always know the time if you listened.
I remember the heat of July under my feet and being barefoot because I was a farm kid who couldn't be convinced that shoes were necessary. And I remember the day I discovered that asphalt could squish beneath your toes as you stepped off the hot sidewalk.
Today was one of those days.
There's a big party in Three Hills this weekend and although Bruce and I won't be attending .. we do hope that everyone has a fantastic weekend, that the weather is perfect and mosquitos non-existant.
For the record .. I'm still barefoot.
