The game of summer

My neighbor, Helen, had her family over on the Fourth.  We saw them playing a rollicking game of croquet in her backyard, and it brought back so many memories.  My grandparents had an old croquet set that we played with for years every summer in their backyard.  My brother and I used to take turns making up our own courses, and in trying to outdo each other we had wickets going around trees and under shrubs.  But when we played with the adults, we stuck to a pretty tame course.  I remember I HATED it when my brother got to wallop my ball into kingdom come, which happened pretty often.  But I also remember how much fun we used to have in Mamaw and Bapaw's backyard.    

Playing croquet is so pleasing to the senses.  The dulled color of the balls and the stripes on your matching mallet.  The wonderful sound the mallet makes when it hits the ball.  The feel of the slightly scratched wooden balls in your hand and the cool grass under your feet as you wait to start another game (croquet is best played barefoot).  The taste of a glass of cold lemonade in-between games, which during play was safely tucked away under their Adirondack chairs so a stray ball wouldn't knock it over.  

I've got to search for a slightly used set.  Having a brand new set just wouldn't be quite right.