Josh finished his sophomore year at school in Virginia and drove his Buick--loaded to the sunroof with all his toys, bedding, books, and clothing--back to Kansas in the first week of May. When he arrived here, his friends down the street at KSU were still finishing classes and preparing for finals, so he languished companionless for a few weeks.

When a Blink 182 concert came up at Sandstone Amphitheater--a concert venue outside Kansas City in Bonner Springs--he gave Owen a thrill and invited him along. It would be Owen's first concert at such a highfalutin place, a place where unfamiliar (one hopes, but one knows better) aromas might cut through the soft air of a summer night--in other words, not a local arts-in-the-park concert with his parents. The parental units gave their consent even though the concert was on a Tuesday night and Owen had school the next day, and they even let him miss his morning classes.

More than in their recent past, Josh and Owen have begun to relate as peers do rather than as puffed-up, territorial older brother and dorky, intrusive little kid. The same can be said of Josh and Taylor, who often head off to one of the nearby lakes or rivers to fish together. I'd have to guess that these recent bonding behaviors signal that they're not just growing up, but maturing as well, and that they might even be discovering that they like each other well enough to bother to stay in touch as adults.

Josh stayed in the house with us for a few weeks, but when KSU students evacuated the town, he moved (as planned) into the apartment of his lifetime friend, James, with whom he'd negotiated a two-month lease (which also means that he'll be returning to our house in the next week). It's hard to tell, however, that he's living away. Apparently this place has a better-stocked refrigerator, more folks who know how to operate a stove and oven, and a more reliable laundry service than can be found at James' apartment. When he's not working, sleeping, or off on some adventure (at the girlfriend's place downriver in Lawrence, for instance), he's here, as evidenced by the new bicycle, work stand, and bike tools that now dress up our dining room.

Almost as soon as he arrived home, Josh went back to work for the summer at the cycling/outfitter place here in town. His sights are set higher (environmental law and advocacy is in his future, he thinks, or maybe just something with a private office and a fern) but he has found a trade. He has become very knowledgeable about the mechanics of bicycles, the vendors, the available parts, and he's very adept at getting customers to part with hundreds or thousands of dollars in exchange for a bit of colorful metal. He has bought an ancient Schwinn Varsity ten-speed bike that he has overhauled for local commuting, and which he says he will turn into a single-speed bike because, well, that's what cycle-store geeks do. And he has Pathfinder Dave's confidence, so Dave leaves him in charge of the store on the days when he (Dave) is not in. (That vague pronoun reference hints at the kind of access offered by Major Major, but so be it unless I fix it later with yet another parenthesis.)

A goodly chunk of his summer earnings has gone toward a mountain bike that he's building for himself, a bike that will eventually replace the aluminum Schwinn Moab frame that he customized last summer. Taking advantage of his employee discount (wholesale prices apparently run about 50% of retail for shiny, smooth-rolling metal), he is assembling a new mountain bike for himself with a custom-made frame and the best parts he can (sort of) afford, including disk brakes. When all the parts have finally arrived in the dining room from around the globe, he'll have a two-wheeler worth a stupefying $3600, and that's before he adds the silvery bell and those little plastic ribbons that stream from the handlebar grips when you're pedaling really, really fast.

And that, in a nutshell, is how Josh has spent his summer vacation.