There is something about the sounds of August that can take a person back in time.

Long before the first school bell rings, August seems to whisper that summer is beginning to slip away. I truly believe this, in spite of it being 94 degrees at 8 p.m. on this Sunday evening as I am writing. But, if you listen closely over the roaring cicadas, you can hear the season changing.

For those of us who grew up in Cassville, August had its own familiar soundtrack.

There was the hum of a lawn mower on a Saturday morning, the screen door slamming as children hurried in and out, and the laughter of neighborhood kids who knew they had only a few more weeks of freedom. There were baseballs popping into gloves, bicycles rattling down the street and the distant sound of someone calling a child’s name from the front porch.

And then came the sounds that meant school was near.

New shoes squeaking across the kitchen floor. The Big Chief tablets and number 2 pencils being gathered together. Music instruments springing back into action. Parents talking about the dreaded enforcement of bedtimes again, while my cousins and buddies tried to stretch the last days of summer just a little longer.

Growing up in Cassville, the beginning of school was more than the end of summer vacation. It was a community event. The town pool would soon be closing and that meant practices for our fall events and sports were around the corner. I loved playing football at CHS, but August two-a-day practices were things that myself and my friends dreaded. My lifelong best friend, Paul Preddy, still laughs about starting each practice at 6:30 a.m. by having to lay down on the dew-covered practice field for our stretching exercises. At 6:31 a.m., every piece of clothing we were wearing was completely soaked courtesy of the good ole August morning dew. 

I can still visualize walking into my Kindergarten classroom in August 1968 and being greeted by my teacher Lou Ann Priest and her aide, Norma Lee Ledgerwood. I was both nervous and excited. When my classmate, Laura Craig, leaned over and gave me a kiss, I realized that Kindergarten was even better than advertised. 

I thought, “I think I’m going to like this.” My Mom and grandma Gowen picked me up after the first big day. They were so excited that I loved the day. I recited everything that had happened, except, of course, the kiss from Laura. 

The buildings and people here are different now, but this time still has a way of stirring memories.

Sometimes all it takes is the sound of a school bus traveling down the road, children laughing on a playground or the first Friday-night crowd gathering for a ballgame. Suddenly, you are young again. You are carrying a new schoolbook, playing jazz for Russ Robinson and wearing No. 25 for the Wildcats.

Perhaps that is one of the gifts of August. It gives us a chance to remember.

We remember the people who shared those years with us, the teachers who helped shape us, the friends who made ordinary days memorable and the community that provided the backdrop for our childhood.

Time moves on, and Cassville changes with it. Children grow up, buildings change and familiar faces become memories. Yet every August, when the sounds of a new school year begin, the past seems to draw a little closer.

Listen carefully.

You may hear a school bell.

You may hear children laughing.

And if you’re fortunate, beneath those sounds you might hear something else — the echoes of your own childhood, reminding you of where you came from and of the community that helped make you who you are.

Here’s to all the of area’s students, teachers, support staff, and families. I hope you have a wonderful school year. And, if you are heading into Kindergarten, I hope your first day is as memorable as mine.

Jon Horner is a local community bank president, published author, newspaper columnist, motivational speaker, and mayor of America’s Real Hometown. He can be reached at [email protected].