The Heartbeat of Ethan: A Childhood Remembered

In 1971, my family chose to leave the farm behind and settle in a house in Ethan, South Dakota. This charming small town proved to be an ideal environment for us children to flourish. Surrounded by expansive fields and rolling prairies, Ethan was a close-knit, secure community where neighbors recognized each other by name, and kids could roam freely without concern. The unhurried rhythm of life gave us plenty of opportunities to immerse ourselves in nature, whether biking along gravel roads or gathering in the backyard for spontaneous baseball games with friends. Attending the local public school was a similarly intimate experience, nurturing lifelong friendships and a sense of belonging. The simple and warm atmosphere of Ethan during those years created the perfect backdrop for childhood, where youthful innocence blended naturally with the charm of small-town living. Reflecting on those early years, it’s clear Ethan shaped my character and deepened my appreciation for life’s little joys.

Sometimes after a full day of school, we hurried out onto the playground, our faces bright with anticipation as we made a beeline for the swings. The sensation of flying through the air, legs pushing rhythmically as the surroundings blurred, brought an intense thrill. Close by, a solitary bar stretched between two poles, inviting the boldest among us to test their strength and agility by hanging by their legs and attempting gymnastic feats seldom achieved. Naturally, the shining metal slide was irresistible – a heart-racing ride down the mile long slide sparked endless laughter and joy. When the distant chime of church bells reached our ears, it signaled that it was time to return home for dinner with our families. After jumping off the swings and finishing our trip down the slide, we collected our schoolbags and strolled together along the shaded lanes toward our modest wooden houses.

Every now and then, Mom would quietly hand me a shiny dime – a small but cherished treasure in my hands. With excitement bubbling in my chest, I would hop on my bike and pedal along the dusty road toward Margaret and Julie's grocery store. That single dime promised a moment of sugary delight, and the store itself, filled with vibrant jars and neatly arranged shelves, was like a magical wonderland to a child. Upon entering, the familiar aromas of fresh baked goods and sugary treats welcomed me, while my eyes eagerly searched the rows of enticing candy jars. Deliberating between bubble gum, soft taffy, or classic tootsie rolls was a lengthy and thoughtful decision. Margaret often assisted by explaining just how many pieces a dime could purchase. After exchanging the dime for the candy, Margaret plopped my treasures into a white wax bag and sent me off with the customary, "Have a good day, Sweetie." As I biked back home, I would savor the sweetness not merely on my tongue but engraved in my memory, turning those simple dimes into personal adventures.

During summer vacation, my friends and I would attach jump ropes to our bike handlebars to create makeshift “horses,” then trot and gallop all around town. With the rhythmic clatter of the ropes whipping through the air and the steady hum of our bike wheels crunching on the gravel, we imagined ourselves as daring cowboys racing across the Wild West. Ethan’s quaint streets served as our vast open range, where every turn presented a new challenge and every straight path invited us to pick up speed. Our laughter filled the air as we competed to see who could hold their “reins” the steadiest, while friendly neighbors smiled at our playful adventures. This simple, creative game transformed an otherwise ordinary afternoon into an enchanting journey in our seemingly boring little town.

Ethan’s ballpark held a unique enchantment for all the kids, mainly because it was always accessible, allowing endless hours filled with play and imagination. Beneath the bleachers, our favorite secret spot was the concession stand – a snug, shaded hideaway where we turned the area into our own miniature shop. Scavenging snack wrappers and small treasures leftover from game days, we fashioned makeshift shelves and took turns acting as shopkeepers and customers, honing our bargaining tactics and creating imaginative products. The distant chirps of crickets living in the shade mingled with the steady creak of the bleachers above, harmonizing perfectly with our laughter and making that simple, tucked-away corner feel like an entire universe. It was far beyond just a game; it was a cherished childhood tradition grounded in friendship, creativity, and the welcoming spirit of Ethan’s ever-open ballpark.

On bright, sunny afternoons, our backyard morphed into the ultimate local playground, alive with laughter and friendly rivalry as friends convened for spontaneous wiffle ball matches and kickball contests. The aroma of freshly mown grass mixed with the excitement as teams were quickly formed, and makeshift bases were arranged using whatever was available – whether large stones or old t-shirts. The sharp plastic crack of the wiffle ball resonated as pitchers threw curveballs and batters swung with enthusiasm. Alternatively, if kickball was the chosen game, the steady thump of players kicking the rubber ball followed by sprints toward home base amplified the exhilaration. These unplanned games represented more than mere sports; they were joyful expressions of camaraderie, spontaneous fun, and the sheer delight of spending time together beneath the wide, open sky.

Following a long day of playing under the blazing summer sun, we would search for a cool treat fresh from the garden. My preferred indulgence involved snapping off a crisp piece of rhubarb directly from the soil. After rinsing it carefully under the refreshing spray of the garden hose, I would eagerly dip the bright red stalk into a small dish of sugar my mother provided. The combination was extraordinary — the sharp, tart flavor of the rhubarb harmonized delightfully with the sugary sweetness, delivering a revitalizing and nostalgic burst of taste. Each bite, chilled by water and sweetened by sugar, provided a coolness that alleviated the summer heat. This simple pleasure turned a humble snack into a heartfelt celebration of summer's bounty.

I will forever hold dear the lazy afternoons we spent together in our backyards, at the ballpark, or down on Main Street. Our makeshift horses stood still, while the hum of mosquitoes filled the air and the sun’s warmth kissed our dusty skin. With fingers sticky from sugar and smiles still bright from laughter, we sat close, exchanging tales of the day’s escapades and dreams for what lay ahead. Those times were more than just quiet town life or childish games—they were moments where friendship grew deep, creativity thrived, and the enchantment of summer endured endlessly.

Looking back now, those moments of innocent joy and connection were the true treasures of my childhood. The charm of small-town living, countless games played, and the sweet tang of rhubarb dusted in sugar – all these memories form a rich tapestry that has influenced not only who I once was, but also who I am today. Although life has moved me far from the quiet streets of Ethan, the essence of those days still serves as a steadfast anchor encouraging me to appreciate life’s simple delights, embrace friendship, and uncover the magic in everyday moments.

Ethan's Main Street: Margaret and Julie's was located in the white building with blue trim.