When I watch The Wonder Years, Happy Days, and all those television programs that cause a nostalgic knot in my stomach, it always takes me back to the days when I lived in Jal, New Mexico, in the late fifties and early sixties. They were much gentler times, and I yearn for the warm feeling of security I had in those slow-moving, easy-going days.

We were like birds in a very large old elm tree. Each family had its own little nest carefully placed among the branches. If a wing fluttered, or a fledgling left the nest, everyone in the tree was aware and concerned. Sometimes it seemed to us 'fledglings' that there was a little too much security, every little twitter being noticed.

As kids, the only entertainment we had was the Panther Drive-In Movie, the Rex Theatre, and my daddy's family pool hall; so if a fledgling was out of the nest for too long, mama could find her chick by checking those few places, in addition to 'making-the-drag' or stopping in at the Milky Way and D-Bar drive-ins. Of course, lease roads, the Flame, and the sandhills were a little harder to patrol.

Nonetheless, there was a network of parents who banned together to watch over the young, chirping flock. I can remember some of my favorite times were spent in my back yard singing and playing guitars, harmonicas, bongo drums, kazoos or any other type of instrument available. Every teenager who could carry a tune or play an instrument (and many who couldn't) piled into my back yard. Of course, my sister, Montie Carol, even though she was just a child, was always included because of her great voice.

Any inhibitions we had were dispelled by the fact that we all thought we were at least as good as any candidate we had heard on Ted Mack's Amateur Hour; so why should we be embarrassed to sing Michael, Row the Boat Ashore at the top of our lungs? We sang lots of ear-piercing harmony, laughing and squealing after every song...sure that some talent scout would certainly single us out one day. My mother was always there, offering sodas, popcorn, and encouragement to the hordes that gathered on those summer evenings.

Almost all of us in our individual 'nests' were subject to different types of the proverbial dysfunctional-family syndrome; but we seemed to be protected, as a whole, by the unspoken unity of the entire 'tree.' Each child, teenager and adult was secure within its cloak of leaves.

I've wondered many times why we all seemed to communicate better in those days. Neighbors going about their everyday business, people passing on the sidewalks or driving down the street--they all managed to engage in some type of exchange. It ocurred to me one day that it could have been something as simple as the fact that we all had no real air conditioning! None--either in our homes or in our cars. The windows of the houses were open in the summertime and the sounds of the entire community's most mundane activities were meshed together as one: dogs yipping, lawn mowers humming, children squealing, the shrill scream of a neighbor's skill saw--sounds that were comfortable and reassuring. Drivers drove around with car windows down and actually spoke to each other in passing.

We sometimes walked from place to place, so the familiar sounds of "morning, neighbor" or "afternoon, ma'am" were common. Now our homes and cars are like 'Thermos' bottles--insulated against the weather as well as against the people in the world. No one walks anywhere, unless for the much-needed exercise of a society that invests billions of dollars in Nautilus machines and other torturous gym equipment. The few brave people on bicycles risk being run over by drivers who are in a hurry to get to the next stop light. The only communication between drivers is a car horn and 'sign language.'

Living in 'the old elm tree' all those years wasn't always a good thing, however. I remember so well when I finally did 'get wings and leave the nest', I was overwhelmed with things in life that I had been protected from all those years. Generally, people in big cities didn't know me and never would. There were "Peeping Toms", for goodness sake! And when my car broke down, there was no one to tow me home; the mechanic actually wanted more money than I made in a week to fix it! Daddy never told me that....

The old elm trees are almost extinct, ravaged by changes in the environment, disease, and society's preferences for other, more 'trendy' trees. The cloak of security extended by our little town is gone. Somewhere in the far reaches of my heart is a longing for that time when life seemed so uncomplicated and made so few demands on me. Now that I'm a grandmother, I find myself yearning for that same kind of security for my granddaughter.

I can't offer her the shelter of the old elm tree, but I hope when she is a grown woman, she can look back and know that she was protected by a doting grandmother who tried to give her the calm peace of mind that she herself felt when recalling those warm summer days in
Jal, New Mexico.