The playground consisted of a big open yard. There were no swings or other equipment. A few brought a ball from home. But we played our hearts out with the games we had known all our lives — red rover, crack the whip, hide and seek, jacks and hopscotch. Later in life these games were relived as I taught them to my grandchildren.

Of course, the two outhouses occupied one corner of the playground — one designated for girls and the other for the boys. There was a big bucket with a communal dipper for water — but many brought those little collapsible aluminum cups from home. Why, I wondered because they were filled with the dipper that everyone else drank from?

Something new for me was the cloakroom — the term was a bit confusing. Divided — the girls used one side and the boys the other, with the entrance from outdoors to the main classroom right in the middle.

Someone eventually explained to me what it meant, and it made sense finally. When they did, it filled in many questions, since it was obviously too warm at the beginning of the school year for a place to hang coats (or cloaks either for that matter). When it was cold, we hung our rag tag assortment of coats and sweaters on the hooks provided.

A few children had those old ugly Arctic boots, black rubber with generally rusted buckles; but most of us had no such luxury. The same was true of hats and gloves. Having neither, Mom folded a clean diaper in half a triangle and tied it snugly under my chin to keep my ears warm.

There were no snow days nor closures for any other inclement weather. Luckily, we could all pile into someone’s big coupe or sedan for an occasional ride when there was a torrential downpour; otherwise, we were on our own.

Hygiene was a mixed bag. My first experience with lice was enlightening. There was one family, mostly very large and dirty looking boys, who were very suspect in that case. Poor Ruby Joyce had the uncomfortable job of talking to them and their family about the problem as well as the solution. It wasn’t well received, but the taunting that went on by other students eventually gave way to some improvement in that area.

As young as I was, not quite 5, the walk to the school at the mouth of the holler was almost exactly one mile from our house. That was each way, and yes, in a sense it was uphill both ways since the rocky, rough lane wound up and down through the holler like a spool of curling ribbon.

Picture day was a much anticipated event. A real photographer showed up at the school on the designated day. Each child was given a small black plastic comb to freshen up with. We even were able to claim them as our own and take them home.

For the much anticipated occasion, Mom had sewn me a little peach colored cotton sundress decked out in white rick rack. She had no pattern and lacked the skills of many of the other seamstresses in our family. She also made one for my younger sister, who was invited to come and have her picture taken also. We both proudly display those old photographs.

Brenda, always the pretty one with her blonde hair and loose girls and the twinkle in her eyes that age hasn’t distilled, caught everyone’s attention. My straight as a stick, drab brown hair had been carefully and tightly French braided into loops, despite the crooked part by Mommy — one of the best braiders ever known. She added a couple of small plastic barrettes on either side of my head, while Brenda only had one to sweep her beautiful locks across her forehead.

Toting my very own Indian nickel tablet, fat Number 2 pencil and Dick and Jane reader back and forth to school enabled me to feel like a true scholar. Until the beginning of junior high, playing school was still one of my favorite games, especially when I was allowed to be the teacher.

Yes, I aspired to teach school and at one point in midlife attended college majoring in elementary education. Events unfolded making that dream less than a reality, but my pre-student teaching days with third graders are still some of my fondest memories.

When the day ended and it was time to head up the holler for home, I still recall singing, “A-Tisket, A-Tasket” all the way and skipping most of the way. Still an avid learner, my first day of school has yielded a lifetime of learning — just the way I like it. What have you learned today?