Family Valued
Family Valued
A picnic remembered
by Carolyn Solverson
July is the time for family and picnics. Family reunions bring families together every summer for all varieties of food and fun. Grandparents coax the children to come, bring the new babies to be ooh’d and aah’d over. Families gather to reconnect and catch up on news, with threats of winter weather over and spring planting done.
My family picnics for the Best side (that’s their name, not a description) happened every summer in Maple Dale at my great uncle Wilbur’s.
It was the most exciting time of the summer for us. Dad didn’t own a car, and there were 11 of us children. His theory was that we could get in enough trouble on foot much less with a car. We walked everywhere, rain or shine, like a row of ducks, Dad taking the rear to make sure no one was left behind. On the designated day, Dad had made arrangements for a relative to come and pick us up. We piled in—older children on the bottom and little ones on top—and went down the road, layered tow heads bounced up and down in the back seat.
This was the scene upon our arrival: Chatting women set up food on long tables made from saw horses and boards covered with brightly colored tablecloths. Chocolate layer and angel food cakes with strawberries towered above the surrounding dishes. Potato salads and relish trays with homemade beet, dill, and bread and butter pickles all grouped near each other. Aunt Darleen’s pickled watermelon rind stood beside and Grandma Edna’s pickled crab apples and chow chow in pink pickle dishes. There were stacks of sandwiches on platters: cheese, meat, egg salad, and peanut butter and jelly for the children. Hot dishes sat wrapped in towels to keep the heat in. Rhubarb, apple, mince and gooseberry pies spread out for everyone to gawk at. Two quart jars of ground cherry, blackberry and apple sauce, all canned the summer before, were poured out into cut glass berry bowls.
Men scattered about in chairs under the shade trees drinking hot coffee and smoking cigarettes. Dads and uncles threw horseshoes and talked about the summer crops and the weather. They’d scratch their heads under their hats and laugh about some poor fool that didn’t know the difference between a heifer and a cow.
Children swarmed the hillside and yard, playing games of shadow tag, hide and seek, and baseball. We’d explore the beautiful rock walls interspersed with inverted brown beer bottles that gave the appearance of fortress walls around a castle. A large goldfish pond sat at the bottom of the hillside where pipes dribbled water from a spring up the hill, giving fresh water to the large golden beasts that lived there. Certainly they couldn’t be related to the same ones we dragged home from the fair every year. Cousins came rushing to greet the newest car pulling into the yard. Car doors flew open and children spilled out onto the ground like red ants at a picnic.
Wilbur was an old bachelor and had the most stunning yard and gardens I have ever seen in my life. Curvaceous flower beds, walled with heavy quartz rocks formed mazes throughout the yard and hillside. Other rocks, with large holes worn in the center from ancient waters swirling on them stood alone as center pieces. (Wilbur claimed they were petrified dinosaur dung.) Pinks, Bachelor Buttons, Phlox, Nasturtium, Four O’Clocks and a huge bed of Hens and Chicks raise their heads above the rock walls, greeting us as we come in. Monster rosebushes, perfumed mounds of Hostas, and flowered dinner plates edged walkways. A miniature mosaic country church with tiny rocks and colored glass blended into the rock walls along with colorful pieces of broken glass, beer bottles, and wheels and gears from old farm machinery. In the garden behind the house was a 10 foot cement bird bath loaded with small rocks, and a large yard light perched on top of a spire that ascended out of the middle of the basin. There was always someone with a camera to take pictures of the whole group subdivided by family. Small children with faces screwed up stood in the front itching to be done so they could go play. The hot sun made it impossible to look at the camera. Men’s baseball and straw hats deeply shaded their faces.
The best was always saved for last, as a large group of children collected around Wilbur waiting for him to serve the ice cream. He always went to the Viroqua Dairy and bought a 5 gallon cardboard container of vanilla ice cream. He kept it in a cart packed with dry ice around it to combat the heat of the day. He scooped each child a cone with a smile on his face, pleased at the thank yous and squeals of delight.
By the end of the day we were exhausted and the ride home was silent. Sunburned, dirty, with stains of ice cream on the fronts of our shirts, our bare arms and legs welted with insect bites, I still smiled to myself all the way home. Our day had been full of all the things we loved. It was a time to play with our favorite cousin. Be kissed by our Aunties and tickled by our favorite Uncles. If I could give one piece of advice this summer, it would be to make an effort to attend your family picnic.
If there isn’t one on the calendar plan your own. Neighbors can make great substitute Grandparents. There is nothing like the feeling of belonging and being loved by those around you. Can any child be loved too much?
Carolyn Solverson is a writer, photographer, and graphic designer.
