Oh, Those Summers! Where Have They Gone!?

I suppose everybody feels the same way - but I’ll say it anyway - there is nothing like Summer when you’re a child. Yes, Winter can be fun - but Summer; Summer was almost magical. When I was little we would occasionally go for drives into the mountains. Given that we were surrounded by them, we hadn’t far to go.

The week before the outing a destination would be chosen and the anticipation of the event was nearly impossible to bear. The outing would always be based around a picnic and the food my mother prepared was always the same. She was from the south, with a very strong accent that never faded, though she’d been away from ‘home’ for years. Her picnics always had devilled eggs, the best fried chicken, home-made potato salad, baked beans with bacon, and of course, dinner rolls or corn bread.

When the day of the drive would arrive, we’d all pile into the Chrysler and head out into the mountains. Often, we would just drive without any real destination other than to find the ‘perfect’ spot to stop for our picnic. Sometimes, this might be just by the side of the road, near a stream or something; other times, a picnic ground, and occasionally, somewhere more exotic - like Lookout Mountain, the resting place of ‘Buffalo Bill’. Wherever it ended up being, we were always anxious to get there, as the smell of all that food would make us delirious with hunger.

When the meal had been consumed and the day began to wane, we’d all pile back into the car and head for home. I remember the windows down, driving through the cool, dusky, shadow of mountains and the crisp air scented with pines. Paul Harvey would be on the radio, or some other ‘talk’ program and the quiet, comfort of the car would lull me to sleep - it was bliss.

I’d always meant to learn to make that particular picnic dinner from my mother but never got around to it - that chance disappeared years ago and much too soon.

If I allow myself the freedom of concentrated reverie, I can still conjure the aromas - and when I do, I can hear my mother’s voice so close to me, its soft southern drawl comforting me for always.