Ahhh. 
We’ve left the mountains and turned to the midwest, 
where my daughters are swimming in the same lake I swam in — and my dad did — when we were 8. 
Squint your eyes and not a day’s gone by.

In honor of all the fun, this poem:

The Barefoot Boy, by John Greenleaf Whittier

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy!

Read the rest of the poem here…