Wasn’t it pleasant, O brother mine
In those old days of the lost sunshine of youth . . .
And we went visiting, me and you,
Out to old Aunt Mary’s?
It all comes back so clear today . . .
— James Whitcomb Riley, “Out to Old Aunt Mary’s”
I’ve written before about the times described below, but I figure that if I can’t remember what I wrote about in the past, then neither can you! It brings me comfort during the wintertime of my life to remember . . .
The wrens have left, and now the air is full of the thrumming of cicadas. August was a ho-hum month, compared to those that had holidays or major events. However, I remember fondly this high-summer month and my days of the lost sunshine:
My parents planted a huge garden next to the greenhouse that used to be at the top of a hill near Road 109 where Daddy was the rose grower. Mother canned dozens of quarts of green beans, tomatoes, vegetable soup, ketchup, pickles, corn relish, and pickle lily that tasted so good during the winter. I haven’t eaten corn relish for years, and many people have never tasted pickle lily which was a concoction made of chopped cabbage, tomatoes, onions and green peppers. Mother also put up grape juice and grape jelly.
Mother, Phyllis Mattix and other neighborhood women made a little extra money by working for a few weeks, peeling tomatoes at the canning factory north of the greenhouse. Wanda Frazier and I earned a penny a jar for washing Mother’s Ball Mason jars in tubs of water. We then blew our earnings on cream soda or other pop at Conways’ neighborhood grocery.
Some summer foods were extra delicious because we couldn’t have them during the winter in those days before the huge supermarkets and the rapid transport of food from other states and countries. Perhaps having to wait for them made watermelon and strawberries taste so good.
Mother scraped the kernels of corn off the cob and made delectable, thin, crisp, golden corn fritters that were served with syrup and butter. Alas, I can’t find a recipe for them and am unable to replicate this yummy dish. If you have a recipe, please send it.
Hot August afternoons would find Wanda and me cooling off in a wash tub of water and spraying each other with the hose, there being no swimming pool in Knightstown. After supper we neighborhood kids played kick-the-can out in Carey St. of bicycle slips, a form of hide-and-seek where we raced through the alleys. After dark, we sat out on our front porches with our parents. My parents talked about the events of the day while we ate Sealtest Raspberry Royale Ice Cream or sipped Mother’s homemade lemonade.
The jelly– the Jam and the marmalade,
And the cherry and quince ‘preserves she made!
And the sweet-sour pickles of peach and pear,
With cinnamon in ‘em, and all things rare–!
And the more we ate was the more to spare,
Out to Old Aunt Mary’s!
I had an “Old Aunt Mary.” Every August my uncle and aunt, Nolan and June Kelly, Grandpa, Mother and I went to Michigantown for Sunday dinner with Grandpa’s sister, Laura. Her round table was set, and everything was hot and ready when we arrived: ham loaf, chicken and noodles, mashed potatoes, green beans from her garden that were simmered with bacon and onion, corn, vinegar slaw, bread and butter pickles, various relishes, homemade rolls, two kinds of pie, and cake. Aunt Laura’s children and grandchildren would come to visit after dinner. After they left, we’d make a pilgrimage to the Old Home Place pioneered by my Kelly forebears that was so beloved by Mother’s people.
Those days before shopping malls, fancy telephones and social media might seem dull. However, we developed a deep connection to our family elders and the place from which we sprang. wclarke@comcast.net