Virginia Hughes
Running Barefoot Through the Heart of Summer
F ACE T O FA CE
Most of the days felt like summer in the hot, tropical islands of the Philippines where my family spent the early part of my childhood. Many of our locations were near the coast often surrounded by rice fields. Two elder brothers, ages nine and eleven, plus a couple of missionary pals their age and me around the age of six would frequently run together down the local paths. We ran because we were blessed with good health and the freedom that existed in a time where parents did their grownup work and elder siblings loosely watched their charges. Our engines were set to run, run, run and we ran everywhere seeking something more interesting than school lessons and chapel services. Our feet bare and running at a steady gait through tall sea grass swaying in
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the breez e s. The rice frogs, no longer polliwogs j u mped freely, and we chased them. But we didn’ t pick them up yet. They were too small. Months later we would chase them again and bag a few to take to the campus cook Nita, who would transform our muddy gift into crunchy fried frog legs. In our summer kingdom, we dined eagerly from tin plates with no silverware, sitting on empty rice bags leftover from our frog foraging. As an adult in the U.S., frog legs crossed my path again as part of an upscale brunch buffet. They did not taste as scrumptious as they had in childhood. The island atmosphere was missing along with the continuous running which worked up a ravenous appetite. A pristine china plate did not hold frog legs as finely as a tin plate had. And the empty rice bags to sit upon? Missing.
