(Still emerging from Winter Storm Stella, with over a foot of snow on the ground on the second day
OF SPRING, I thought it would be a good day to post this blog entry I wrote back in October. You'll see why.)
When we Farnsworth girls were kids, we did not do lavish things. We grew up in the era where the neighborhood was the center of social life for a kid. Family vacations, a major trip, or any kind of travel really was rare.
But, in the summer, there would be a day that my mother would make tuna fish and egg salad sandwiches, cut them on the diagonal and pack them in the Tupperware box used for road trips. (Diagonally-cut sandwiches were for special occasions – they were fancy.) This would be loaded in the station wagon with a Thermos jug of orange Koolaid, a bag of cheese curls and a package of Archway frosted spice cookies (my mother’s favorite). Away we would go with us girls bickering over seat turf, I’m sure, and probably playing Bury Your Animals. Our destinations were various places in upstate New York and, although I remember very little about the places, I remember the details surrounding the rituals of the trips - things that were unique to that tradition. I still bring those vignettes to mind - it was a happy time and they make me happy still.
My brother wasn’t born yet, so it was us four girls that would cram into the
“way-back” of the station wagon (which I later discovered was not a term
I coined, but what everyone called
the part of a station wagon behind the back seats), eight bony knees, too many
feet, and loud voices rioting forth at our parents in the front.
And, there was the bag of candy. My mother always made sure to have a bag of
pick-o-mix candies (our store’s version of “bulk” back then) that we kids commandeered
from the way-back. The grown-ups, no doubt, were lucky to get one piece. I
still can recall the assortment: root beer barrels, hard butterscotch candies, maple
and raspberry toffees, and those flat round caramels with the white swirl. I
guess the strategy was if our mouths were constantly full and chewing, there
would be less bickering.
But, of course, we all could manage to speak that universal kid travel
question. Are we almost there? When I
think back, I realize my parents never snapped or even really lost patience. Every
so often, my mother would call back to us, look
at the cows, girls! My mother loved taking drives passing through
countryside and small towns so she wanted to share her appreciation of America
with us. My mother’s America.
Eventually, we would arrive at our destination and the tailgate would go down.
My mom would open the box of sandwiches, fill paper cups with the Koolaid and
eight knees would line up bending over the edge of the tailgate while we silently
munched on the triangular treats.
Feed them and they will be silent.
Looking back, my father probably ate standing up and my mother probably didn’t
stop bustling and didn’t eat at all.
At the risk of joining the ranks of the “in my day” sayers, treats were treats
when I was a kid. My parents were members of the generation that settled the
country with housing tracts and centralized school districts. They needed the
one paycheck the father brought in to buy dryers and drapes from Sears. The
neighborhood supplied your fun and entertainment. Neighborhoods were noisy
because everyone was home. Travel was rare.
But, every now and then, on a summer day…
