Here in the South it can get mighty hot in the dead of Summer, and like
anything else, we have plenty of ways of telling you just how hot it is (hotter than blue blazes, so hot the
chickens are layin’ hard boiled eggs, so hot the cows are givin’ evaporated
milk, and so on). If the heat isn't
bad enough, the humidity will take it to a whole nuther level of
discomfort. And then there are the rains. On a hot humid Summer afternoon, it's common
for a thunderstorm with heavy rain to roll through as the sun is going down. This is when you’ll hear phrases like “frog strangler” and “gully washer” for describing the deluge
of rain that often comes down. It tends
to cool things off just a bit, which was appreciated the most back before we
had air-conditioning in the house.
 |
| Stock Photo: Water Sprinkler Fun |
When we were kids, we had ways of dealing with the heat of summer. There was always the cool sand in the
sandpile sitting in the edge of the woods, in the deep shade. Then sometimes Mom would tell us to go get
our bathing suits on and she’d squirt us with the hose. She’s make fountains with the water and we’d
run through it, squealing the entire time as the cold drops of water hit our
hot skin. Sometimes the hose would be
connected to the sprinkler and we’d play for hours in the streams of water
arching through the hot summer sun.
Sometimes we’d go on a picnic to the creek.
Daddy would hook the wooden wagon to the back of the tractor while Mom packed
the picnic. Everyone would load into the
wagon and off we’d go bouncing down the roads through the woods that Daddy always
kept well trimmed from the undergrowth.
There was always this one spot we went to. The bank of the creek dipped down on one
side, creating a small sandy beach that we could play on. The icy water of the creek wound lazily
around the small sandy bank and went on down the hill. We’d float small sticks and leaves on the
water, pretending it was a little boat.
We’d take off our socks and shoes (or flip flops) and hunt for pretty
rocks in the rubble on the bottom of the creek bed, always longing to come up
with an arrowhead (often found in our area).
Salamanders were always to be found, with their glistening skin and
tails that they could break off when they were afraid. Sometimes Daddy would take us all for a walk
up and down the creek. We’d use big
sticks to unblock the little dams that leaves and branches had created, and
open the water flow.
 |
| Stock Photo: Woodland Creek |
Mom would call us out of the water when she got our picnic ready, and we’d
all have a seat on the blanket she had spread on the ground. The meal was usually sandwiches, peanut
butter crackers, and pickles, and the like.
It was more about having fun and cooling off than it was about any sort
of fancy meal. Picnics and the creek
were about adventure, discovery, and staying cool on a hot summer day.
The creek runs through a thick stand of woods and isn’t very wide in most
places. It twists and turns through the
woods, meandering off to wander through the back parts of what used to be Granddaddy’s
property, then on to what used to be our Great Uncle’s property. From there it flows into a bigger creek, and
eventually into the mighty Haw River. It
was always a fun place to go, but there was one other way that we cooled off on
a hot summer’s day that we loved even better.
Making homemade ice cream!!
 |
| Old Hand-crank Ice Cream Freezer |
Now this usually happened on special days (like birthdays), or on any given
Sunday afternoon. We had an old hand
crank ice cream churn, with the silvery bucket in the center. Mom would get the bucket out of the churn and
disappear into the kitchen to work her magic in creating the ice cream
mix. Daddy, and any Uncles that were
around that day, would get the ice, rock salt, and burlap bags ready. We kids would play in the yard until called
to play our role in the event. We
understood what our job would be, but saw no reason to just stand around when
there were cousins available to play with.
Mom would bring out the bucket with the dasher in it and lid on top, and
hand it off to Daddy. He’d put it in the
churn and begin shoveling scoops of ice around the bucket. He alternated layers of ice with a thick
layer of rock salt. As soon as it got
close to the top, he’d hook the crank to the top of the bucket and latch it all
down. More ice was added, then one more
layer of rock salt, then the folded up burlap bags to be put on top of the
whole thing.
Now it was time for us kids to do our part.
We sat on the ice cream churn (and occasionally would sneak a piece of
salty ice out and pop it in our mouths).
Our added weight to the churn made it easier for Daddy or one of our
Uncles to turn the hand crank, especially when the ice cream started to harden
inside the churn. They would turn that
crank until it was almost impossible to turn it any further. Then it was time to wrap the churn up in old towels
and burlap bags, and let it sit and harden for a bit. It was usually about this time that Daddy
would sneak a piece of ice out without anyone noticing and slip it down the back
of someone’s shirt. He’d smile with glee
when he got the expected reaction of a yell, as the cold ice slid down hot
skin. This is usually accompanied by the
“victim” jumping up and doing sort of a crazy dance as shirt tail is yanked out
and the ice quickly removed. The
“victim” would grab some ice and attempt revenge, but wasn’t always
successful.
It was fun for the kids (because making ice cream usually meant that some
of our cousins came over), and it was fun for the adults (because it gave them
a chance to sit in the shade and share the events of the past week). If we were at Grandmother and Granddaddy’s
house, just across the field from us, it meant us kids climbing up into the maple
tree that sat in their back yard. It had
limbs low enough that we could jump and catch hold of, and other limbs up in
the tree that made great seats.
That old maple tree still stands today, but it’s about seen its day... some
of its limbs are starting to die. Grandmother’s and Granddaddy’s house stands
empty these days, but one glance in its direction brings a flood of memories
back. We still make ice cream, but it’s
in an electric freezer these days... but I do miss the old hand crank kind. There was just a little something different about
it. Today we don’t sit under the trees
and talk, like we did in those days. We
have air-conditioning now, so on hot days we go inside. It’s ironic though... I don’t remember the
heat of summer... but I do remember the fun things that we did to endure
it.
 |
| It's Not The Heat...... It's The Humidity!! |
No comments:
Post a Comment