What Says Summer

I remember long hot and humid days.  Racing bikes up and down the sidewalk and drinking from the green garden hose, slight metallic taste lingering on my lips.  

Summer was trips to the library every Tuesday and reading voraciously while my  toddler brothers napped.  After we were  rested we would go outside and have popsicles. “What color do you want” mom asked, “red, orange, or purple”. Sometimes we got the box with the yellow banana popsicles.

When dad got home from work in the summer  he would often cook brats and burgers on the grill and we would have a picnic outside.  After we ate I would play on the swing set while dad watered his garden.

On especially hot days, after dinner mom and dad would say “hey kids lets go to Dairy Queen”.  We would pile into the bright blue Matador Station Wagon and drive the 2 miles down Indianola  Ave. I  would usually get a chocolate dip cone, but sometimes I would

order a green Mr. Misty. This was a flavored ice drink that was similar to a 7-11 Slurpee, but I since I have  have never had a slurpee, can’t compare.  A Mr. Misty was like drinking a snow cone: cold, refreshing, with lots and lots of sugar.  Our family Dairy Queen tradition lives on. Every summer I look forward to the visit from my brother Seth and his family from Vermont. Since

there are no Dairy Queen’s in Vermont going to DQ is an event and  many trips are made for Blizzards, the favorite of my niece and nephew.  Grandpa always gets a butterscotch sundae.

Summer meant time for messy arts and crafts.  Mom would get out all her tie dye supplies and we would create lovely designs and teeshirts. We would use cotton fabric to make blocks for a quilt and when we ran out of fabric we would get old teeshirts, underwear, and mismatched socks.  Mom and us kids would be covered with dye. Blue and purple splotches stained our hand arms and legs.  One day mom took us to the SuperDuper a small grocery store a few blocks from home for dinner ingredients.  The checkout girl couldn’t help but notice my 3 year old brother and his colorful dyed legs and hands. She asked with concern what  was and wrong with the baby and mom said “dye”. Maybe a little too gleefully.  The poor girl looked shocked,  she thought mom meant he was dying.

Summer was camping.  From mid July- mid August  our family could be found somewhere in Canada camping and driving to new parks, lakes, and adventures. When I was young I remember  driving for a couple of day then camp for a week. Then drive again for a day or so then camp again in a new place.  After a day of driving mom and dad would pitch the tent and us kids would bring in the sleeping bags and lanterns. When we all got a bit older, mom and dad invested in a pop up  camping trailer which made travel with 6 people and a couple  of dogs a bit easier.  I remember many a rainy night in the Provincial parks of Canada playing cards and games  inside that trailer.  I never liked the smell of wet canvas and the mustiness of a closed up damp tent.  Throughout the year we discussed were to go the following  summer, we always went to Canada. One year we went to Prince Edward Island and another year made it to Newfoundland.

As I got older summer time was going to the local pool with my friends, but since we were not members I had wait to be invited.  As a teenager summer time meant more hours at Northland Mall shopping with close friends. We would  wander around, and go to  The Limited, Lazarus, Thom McAn, and Walden Books. Eventually we ended up at the food court getting a slice of bad pizza or a cookie from Mrs. Fields. Afterwords we checked out the  boys in the arcade.

Summer time was week long summer camps at Templed Hills church camp in Belleville, Ohio.  As a young teen I was a counselor-in- training before I was responsible for my own cabin of girls.  (My camp was nothing like Meatball, the goofy 1979 movie I recently watched.)  The weeks at camp was full of hikes, swims, bad food, crafts,  Bible stories, and counselors flirting.  But that is a story for another time.

As a mom summer time was swimming lessons, day camps, and playdates. It was  day trips to Santa Cruz, the Pacific Ocean, picnics at parks to hear music,   Kings Island and canoeing the Little Miami river.  Summer was watching my teenager sleep until noon.

Now days,  nothing says summer like the produce auction in Bainbridge, Ohio where Amish farmers come to auction off their  produce. Some tourists get  starry eyed assuming the produce is organic, it is not. The vegetables come in bushels and pecks and  lots of 10, 20 or 50 pound boxes. This makes for a lot  of produce. Be ready to  either eat a lot of green beans, beets, new  potatoes, or  zucchini, etc,  or  put them up in jars for later. There will be more than enough to share with friends and neighbors. A favorite time of mine in recent years is the long weekend spent  processing 500 lbs of tomatoes from the produce auction.  500 lbs is a lot of tomatoes! We make the tomatoes  into sauce, salsa, and ketchup. Last year we canned over 100 pints of tomatoes.  My mom and I have a flow and rhythm to the process. It is better if we are alone at the farm for the weekend so no one gets in our way or “helps”.  We tried to have a “canning camp” one year to teach the process to others but that was a disaster. Canning is hard work, it is hot, it requires standing for most of the day, and it is very possible to sustain a steam burn. I think of the ancestors, the mothers and grandmothers who canned their produce as a matter of survival to feed their families all year.

What does summer say to you?  What are some of your memories and experiences? I would love to hear your stories.