Photo Credit © Mrsash174 | Dreamstime.com
As a child growing up in rural Wisconsin, my next door neighbor, Little Jeff, got a Green Machine for his birthday. Like the Big Wheel before it, the Green Machine featured a jointed back end that allowed you to race like a bat out of hell up the street then yank the wheel to the right or left, jam on the back wheel brake and execute a rip-roaring, doughnut.
It was awesome—and instantly vaulted Little Jeff to best friend status in my book. Yes, I was really that shallow. Ironically, he was also my best friend in the winter because his dad created an ice rink in his backyard each year. So, Little Jeff had a lot going for him.
In any event, reading through this month’s GREEN issue, I kept flashing back to the hours and hours of fun I had growing up outside in rural Wisconsin. The whole pack of kids who lived on our street spent every free minute outside. We played baseball for hours. We explored the acres and acres of wooded, hilly farmland across the street. We roamed the neighborhood and huge open spaces that separated it from the rest of the world. During the winter Olympics we created bobsled courses. During March Madness, we played outdoor tournaments on our driveway hoop. And so on.