Growing up the family would get together for various reasons to celebrate assorted holidays and birthdays. This is a normal process for many an extended family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, folks you don’t remember ever seeing before or after that day would all gather somewhere and eat, drink and socialize for an afternoon and evening. Folks would bring a “covered dish” to share and the host would provide the main course. And sometimes dessert.
My Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Don had a good sized piece of property with a few buildings on it. I wish I could remember if it was an older farm or just some sheds on the perimeter, but I can’t recall that far back. I am old and they moved from that house when I was very young. I remember the large porch on the front of the house and the large front yard. Us younger kids had to stay close to the house and play in the front yard. I have no idea where the bigger kids went. I think I remember an old barn type building they were allowed to go to. But, I could be wrong. We would go out there for holidays and gatherings because there was a lot of space. In our heyday we were a large crowd.
One of the joys of being out at Uncle Don’s was homemade ice cream. He was quite proud of his flavorful accomplishments from that old machine. You remember those old things. They looked like an old wooden barrel inside a larger barrel-type tub. The tub part held the ice and rock salt. The inner tub held the ingredients. There was a large crank sticking out the one side. They used only the freshest ingredients – milk, cream, fruit, sugar, vanilla and rock salt. Lots of rock salt. And lots of manpower to turn the crank. Or in the case of my uncle’s ice cream – kid power. We all wanted some homemade ice cream. It was so good. And such a novelty. Who knew you could make the stuff at home.
We thought you just bought the box at the grocery freezer section and took it home. Dad would fuss and swear at how hard it was and how difficult it was to get out of the container. We would all wait in the other room until we were called to the table to “Come and Get Your Ice Cream Before It Melts!” Scarff it down, take the bowl to the kitchen and back to the TV. No preparation, no ceremony, no mess, no fun. But, you could make the stuff at home? Huh, never heard of that.
The day would come and we excitedly climb into the station wagon. Food prepared and covered for the trip. Extra pants and jackets in case it got cold, a blanket and pillow for whomever fell asleep on the way home and “go before we leave cuz I’m not stopping till we get there,” from Dad. And away we went. And we had to stop at least once for someone to do what they should have done before we left. “But I didn’t have to go then,” never went over well with Dad.
The day would progress with socializing and more food preparation. The tables were set for the adults and the kids got the card table in the other room with the plastic dinner ware and the mismatched plates. The great thing about Uncle Don’s was the room to run with not a care in the world. And the homemade ice cream. Long after dinner he would set everything up on the front porch and start the hand crank. And in true Tom Sawyer fashion get us kids to finish it off for him. He would make the periodic obligatory visits to check on progress. Add more rock salt every time and tell us we were doing a good job. As it got more solid we would switch off every few minutes because our arms would get tired. After a while you shout out for someone else to take over and you run off into the yard and have fun. Sometimes it was a bit of a stretch to get someone to relieve you. A rousing game of freeze tag had taken over the labor force. But, eventually someone would show up and you would get to join the game is progress. Only to have Uncle Don return and add more rock salt. This process would go well into the evening until at least full dark. The freeze tag had now evolved into flashlight tag. All the while the kids were playing close by and the ice cream was being prepared.
You know it took me years to figure out how smart my Uncle Don really was. He found a way to keep us occupied, near the house and get dessert prepared with very little effort on his part. All these years I held romantic, nostalgic notions and truly fond memories of those gatherings. Only to recently figure out we had been hoodwinked into manual labor.
I wish Uncle Don were still here. I would love to reminisce with him about those days. He would be so pleased with himself.
Miss ya Unca Don – thanks for the memories.
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