This coming week marks the 6th anniversary of scattering my parents’ co-mingled ashes over the Iowa farm where they had lived for 50 years. Seeing the ashes flutter across the corn rows carried by a warm west wind was one of the most precious memories of my life. It reminded me of life on the farm particularly in the summer and the secure world that my parents created for me and my sisters.
I thought that town kids had a better life than me when I was growing up. They didn’t have daily farm chores and were near other kids for opportunities to play. In retrospect, however, I am glad that I grew up on a farm in a rural community. I am particularly reminded of summer evenings when my parents could relax from their usual 15 hour days.
Summer nights were special when neighbors and/or relatives were (usually spontaneously) invited over for dessert and fellowship. For example, my mom made the best apple pie I have ever tasted. I think her secret was the tangy green apples that grew on our big tree in the yard. Plenty of sugar and cinnamon (not other spices) along with a lard-based crust, made those pies delicious. I can make a pretty good apple pie but not as good as mom’s.
Sometimes we had homemade ice cream with the pie or sometimes we just had it by itself. Part of the ritual of eating the ice cream was making it. The cream and sugar had to be slowly churned to incorporate air ensuring that the final product was smooth, light, and creamy. My dad supervised and made sure it was done right!
Watermelon season was a special time in the late summer that also offered an opportunity to get together on summer evenings. It usually included a fun watermelon spitting contest. My uncle always won the contest, and I never figured out his technique for spitting the farthest. Mom reminded us kids, “Don’t eat too much watermelon or you will have to pee all night long.” We didn’t pay much attention to her warnings.
Summer evenings also meant fireflies, or lightning bugs as we called them. We anticipated seeing the first one of the evening, and then the game was to try to catch as many as possible and put them in the bell jars where they could create a lantern. Unfortunately, by the next morning, they were usually dead. Today fewer fireflies exist and maybe my generation of kids just collected too many.
I remember fondly those summer nights and the love that my parents showed to family and neighbors all times of the year. As a kid, living was easy.
Took me back immediately… especially all of the lightning bugs hanging over the tall grass pastures. We played a lot of hide and seek in the dark, always were barefoot, and loved to help turn the crank to make ice cream! 😊❤️