When I was a kid, we spent our summers on the family farm in upstate New York. We would leave as soon as school was out at the end of June and remain there in a state of liberated bliss right through the Labor Day weekend. We were liberated in lots of ways. The family farm had over a hundred acres over which we could freely roam. We built forts and went swimming in the creek that ran through the property every day. We picked wild berries and even grudgingly submitted to weeding my Dad’s beloved vegetable garden. If the truth were told, though, the weeding seemed less onerous when we were gnawing on a butter drenched ear of fresh corn.

But of all the bits and pieces of summer freedom there was one that stood head and shoulders above the rest. This was better than campfires and roasted mars…