By G. E. Shuman
Well, I waited all winter for this,
and it's finally here! Picnic time! In some ways I can't believe
it, because only last week I took my snow shovel from under the
carport and put it in the cellar, but it's actually true. As most
people know, winter here in Vermont is only separated from summer by
about three minutes of spring-like weather, so I might be excused for
not tucking that shovel into its summer, basement home more promptly.
Anyway, I am very happy that it is picnic time!
When I was a child, summer family
picnics were almost a ritualistic project. These days things are a
bit more 'disposable' and 'instant' than they were then, but people
still enjoy picnics. Back in those far off days of my youth, picnics
were complicated, and required more equipment than the Israelites
packed up for forty years of wandering in the wilderness. (If you
think I'm kidding, you should have seen my mother's lists of things
to bring.) Also, at least as far as our family was concerned, picnics
never happened at home. We did have a picnic table in the backyard
of our central Maine home, as I remember, but we never used it for a
picnic. In fact, I'm not sure what we did use it for. Our picnics
always involved traveling, usually the hour or so it took to get to
the beautiful Maine coast. Our family get-togethers, even the ones
on Sunday, after spending the morning in church, nearly always
happened within sight of the Atlantic, which was fine with me.
In those distant days of the past,
cars were big, and it was a good thing that they were big, because
families were big, and picnics were big. You could pretty much have
made a small apartment in the trunk of my dad's 1960 Chevy Biscayne.
That's no joke, or at least it's not a big joke, not as big as that
trunk. My point is that for a big family picnic we would pack that
trunk so full that a stuffed olive wouldn't have a chance of making
it in there in one piece, without removing the pimento. Such
trunk-packing was no picnic, if you know what I mean.
For our family, it just wouldn't have
been a picnic without three or four picnic-table tablecloths, even
though we would only be using one picnic table, (It was always safer
to have a few spares.) and for each one, some of those nifty plastic
(Yes, we had plastic back then.) clips to hold the tablecloth down,
just in case the wind came up, which it always seemed to do, just as
Dad was trying to light a charcoal fire. Oh yes, then there were
those wonderful charcoal briquettes. Back then those things weren't
as user-friendly as they are now, if memory serves, and no one had
gas grills. Oh no. In those days you couldn't just light a match
and flip it into one of those charcoal grills. Those briquettes had
to be coaxed to life. First you had to pour about a gallon of lighter
fluid on them, and quickly light that, before it evaporated. If you
were lucky, the briquettes would catch on fire, and in three or four
hours they were hot enough to grill something. I think all of that
is because charcoal is somehow related to wood, and coal, and the
dinosaurs, I think, and they weren't nearly as 'aged' when I was a
child as they are now. At least, that's my theory.
Along with the briquettes, if you were
grilling, you had to bring the grill, in case the picnic area you
went to didn't have those ones that are mounted on a steel post, and
cemented into the ground so that picnic area grill-thieves wouldn't
steal them. Also, if your mom was like mine, she usually thought the
grills at those places were dirty or something, after cooking 'other
people's' food, and not worthy of her family's burgers and hotdogs.
And then you needed the grill utensils, and aluminum foil, which we
called tin foil then, and the lighter stuff, and newspaper, and short
sticks, and matches, (of course,) and long sticks for roasting
marshmallows, in case you actually got the coals going in time to
cook meat and still have time for marshmallows before the sun went
down, or a storm came up. Oh yes, it might only rain a little, or
get cold, so you needed sweatshirts, just in case, and cleaning
supplies to wipe down the table, the utensils, and the kids with.
(In our family there were six kids to wipe down.) All of this stuff,
and much more, including paper plates, napkins, and cups had to get
into that trunk. If there was not room for the food, we six kids got
to hold grocery bags of it on the car floor our feet were supposed to
be on, and/or on our six laps. I think that is why my folks had six
kids. You know, six kids; six laps to hold picnic food on.
No picnic would be complete without
ants. Believe it or not, for many of our family picnics we actually
invited our own ants. There was Ant Mary, Ant Ruth, Ant Myrtle, Ant
Alice, Ant Marion, and several other ants I probably don't remember.
(I know. Bad pun.) Our family and our picnics evolved in Maine, so we
called them aunts. We still do, and we are right. Just check the
spelling.
In all of this ranting about family
picnic memories, there is one thing I remember more than all of the
rest. I remember getting together with family members we had not
seen for what seemed like years, and sitting around those rough old
picnic tables, feasting on those hotdogs, hamburgers, chips, sandwiches, salads,
and corn on the cob. My 'ant', I mean, my Aunt Mary always brought
her special deviled eggs, and one bunch of us or another would
contribute a huge watermelon, every time. After we ate, we kids
would go climb rocks and trees, or find some other way to get
bruised, as the 'old people' sat and drank strong, camp-stove coffee
from those new-fangled Styrofoam cups, while reminiscing about
picnics of the past. Those very special days, as complicated as they
seemed to be to prepare for, were wonderful times. I wouldn't trade
the memories of them for the world.
This summer, be sure to give your kids
the special, lifelong memories found in the simple pleasures of a
family picnic. It doesn't matter if you have a traveling,
trunk-filled, complicated picnic like ours used to be, or if you just
go through the drive thru for a bag of burgers or subs, and eat them at the
playground. You just can't have a bad time at a picnic. You could
even invite your ants.
