I love lemonade stands. They seem like one of the quintessential signs of summer to me. When I drive past little kids with earnest, handwritten signs professing, “Ice-cold lemonade! Only 25 cents!” I know that the seasons have changed and summer is in full swing. My love traces back to early days, when my parents’ choice of cul-de-sac lots always thwarted my lemonade selling plans. I would watch other children on busier roadways and bemoan my poor luck and minimal foot traffic. Faced with few prospective customers, I closed up shop and shelved my dreams. But I could not stop loving the business.

Twenty years or so later, I still seek out lemonade stands on the side of the road. I try to stop when I can and drop a quarter or two for a cup of what is almost always Country Time. The kids are ecstatic to a fault, however, so I accept their beverage, take a few sips, and drive/walk off until I’m out of eyesight and can dispose of the neon-colored drink with grace. As much as the product never lives up to the promise, I still feel guilty when I don’t have change on me and can’t buy a cup when passing by.

My current living situation is one of the worst lemonade spots conceivable. I live in a townhouse complex at the furthest end away from the entrance, with the front door facing away from the street and parking lot. What makes for a desirable living situation, secluded from the noise of the neighborhood, also means terrible lemonade customer flow. My neighbor has four little girls under the age of six with no shred of business acumen among them, so they set up shop this weekend. Realizing that they were only trading coins with each other, they went door to door to drum up customers and I was on their route. When asked how much a cup cost, they lured me with, “it’s free,” kept me going with, “or maybe just a penny,” and finally settled on “it’s really a quarter” when I got to the stand. Dropping a quarter in the change cup, I took the pinkish-orange concoction and started to drink. I had almost gotten halfway when their mother appeared and cautioned against going any further, explaining that “Mary put her arm in the pitcher.” Mary graciously accepted my cup and drank the rest. They informed me that they were saving  up for a piggy bank and wished me well when I retreated back to my apartment.

I don’t have kids. Between an internship and two part-time jobs, I’m working 70+ hours a week, so I don’t have much time to bond with the neighborhood hooligans. I see traces of their summertime childhood in the drawings on the sidewalk early in the morning, or later in the evening as I step over their scooters littering the yard. I don’t have time for tea parties and I didn’t come outside when they pounded on my sliding glass door in the middle of dinner preparations yesterday. I don’t have time to be the cool next door neighbor I would have loved as a little girl. But I do have time for lemonade. It’s only a quarter and a few minutes of idle conversation. I can still make time for lemonade.

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What was your favorite part of summer when you were growing up? Do you frequent lemonade stands? Are there any fresh-squeezed lemonade stands out there? I’ll pay double.