Memories of Swiss Village Summers

You wouldn’t guess it at first glance, but I’m a country girl through and through, used to falling asleep to the sound of cowbells and waking up to the unmistakable smell of horses. My cousins and I bonded over pulling weeds, setting up beanstalks, and racing go-karts down the road by our house back when hardly any cars passed through. Looking back, it almost feels as though none of it ever existed.

Growing up beside the village stream gave us a childhood full of adventure. On sunny days, my brother and I used to raft downstream to the village centre on air mattresses, pretending we were on a mission in the Amazon jungle. Once, at a family barbecue, my uncle told us we couldn’t go near the stream because of the piranhas. I didn’t know what a piranha was, so I did as I was told and stayed away from the water for the rest of the day. My cousin later decided he had laughed at me enough and, after telling the story to everyone who crossed his path, explained that I didn’t need to be afraid of piranhas in the village, nor anywhere in Switzerland for that matter.

Another summer memory that comes to mind is me being so lost in my own world that I didn’t notice where I was stepping and fell backwards into the neighbourhood fountain. Or the time I dared my brother to jump off the top of our slide, and he ended up with a broken arm. As the youngest in our family and neighbourhood, he was always the one being dared.

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