Seems like we just celebrated New Year's and here we are in the land of grilling grills, riding lawnmowers and putting on tanning lotion at the beach. When in my youth, there was a certainty that upon getting older time would slow down. After all, look at how slow senior citizens walked. Instead, the time just flies by at a greater speed! Seems like us seniors are building a momentum to make the transition that will propel us to that mysterious "other side."
However, indeed summer has arrived with all its blessings and curses. As my friends have evacuated New York for the beaches and countryside, I have taken a few moments of absolute joy in recollecting my childhood summers on the farm.
Instantly my mind is flooded with images of lightening bugs covering the fields, the damp sweaty humidity while working during the day, the swims in the irrigation ponds and the approaching thunderstorms cutting a swath through the fields from the west. My family lived off the crop that was in season and that meant marvelous dishes like baked tomatoes, tomato sandwiches, corn on the cob, fresh peas, string beans, beets, potato salad, baked potatoes and of course, homemade ice cream. For a while we even made all of our root beer right there at home.
My Grandfather Grove (Buzzard Bait) had a huge garden. Dad would bring the plow in May and dredge a big patch for Grampy's garden. Not sure why it was called his garden since he had us do all the work while he sat on the cesspool giving us orders! After it was plowed I had a hand-pushed cultivator and with hard sweat, pushed that damn thing up and down until every lump of dirt was broken up.
Grampy had six rows of flowers, then lima beans (for which we had to put stakes in the ground with string all over them), corn, strawberries, tomatoes (nothing better than a Jersey Tomato) and other summer goodies. The local farmers would always give us a huge burlap bag of potatoes which we kept in the cold dark cellar. Grampy would grow our own lettuce and squash. All summer long the rows had to be cultivated and hoed by hand.
But the ingredients made for exceptional family picnics in our massive yard under the tall trees. The tables would groan under the sheer weight of the food and especially the desserts with homemade cake, pies and ice cream.
The evenings usually ended with the entire family playing a huge game of hide and seek. One time I hid in the shoot of a pea harvester and got stuck. This was a moment of great family legend as they threatened to turn it on and dump me out of the top of it. My brother and sister took great joy in banging against the side of it. At least I won the game of hide and seek.
Summer was also a time of eighteen hour work days that were expected from owners of the farm. Promised bonuses never materialized but the family always seemed to forgive the owners in almost a plantation mentality. What I choose to remember are the smells, the sense of family, the fresh vegetables and fruits, the sound of approaching storms and the coolness of the night air as the family gathered on the front porch.
That was magic.
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