Memorial Day

Scott bounced on his toes in the kitchen as he waited impatiently for his family to get ready to go. It was 12:45 and the parade started at 1:00. he didn't want to miss anything.

“Come on,” he muttered through his teeth. “We're gonna be late!”

“Calm down, Scott,” his mother replied. “We live five minutes away. We have plenty of time. Why can't you be this worried about being on time for church or school?”

Scott just turned awkwardly away from his mother being very careful not to make eye contact. He knew why he wasn't worried about being on time for church and school. He wasn't worried about being on time for church and school because the pastor and the teachers never threw candy at him. If they'd throw candy at him, the ten-year-old would be so much more eager to get out of the house.

 He was a little confused about parades though. His parents always told him to never run into the streets and to never take candy from strangers and to especially never eat anything off the ground. On Memorial day, none of these rules seemed to reply. Not only were the kids allowed to run into the street, they were encouraged to pick candy up off the ground that had been thrown there by strangers. Scott had thought about asking his parents why this was the case but had decided that he had better not risk pointing out the inconsistencies in the logic of the situation lest his parents decide not to allow him the opportunity to pick up candy in the middle of the road from strangers this one day a year.

Instead, he got into the family's Astro van and kept his mouth shut as his brothers and sisters piled in around him. Dale backed the van out of the parking spot and drove down the long driveway. They drove up the road towards Paris square where the parade would pass. Scott's heart sunk just a little when he all the long lines of cars and pickups parked on both sides of the road. His father pulled the van over and put it in park. The children got out and looked up the hill with considerable disappointment at the distance from their van to the top of the hill. They breathed deeply and started hiking. It didn't take as long as they thought it would to get to the top. 

“There's Grandma and Grandpa!” Caleb exclaimed as he pointed across the street.

Sure enough, there thy were in their normal spot. They sat in a matching pair of aluminum frame lawn chars at the corner of Paris avenue and Lisbon street. An old blue building cast just enough of a shadow to shade the elderly couple but that didn't keep them from rocking the oversize sunglasses that fit over their spectacles. The children looked both ways and ran across the street. Christa laid a blanket out on the grass where the kids sat waiting for the parade to start.

After an unbearable amount of time, the parade finally started. The children watched eagerly as a marching band lead the way. The local V.F.W. Honor guard walked proudly in front of a flatbed wagon that carried all of the areas veterans. The children waved ecstatically at their great uncle Clyde who responded by tossing generous handfuls of tootsie rolls to the exited children. The kids scrambled to pick up the candy and shove it into their plastic grocery bags. The rest of the parade consisted of cars, trucks, tractors, horses, and a group of kids on bicycles. The kids waited for a full minute after the last vehicle drove by just to make sure they didn't miss anything. 

The whole group packed up their stuff and headed down the street to the church. This was the part that didn't thrill the children very much, but it was part of the deal. Their was always a short service held at the church to remember the soldiers who had fought and died for their country. The children didn't fully understand what the service was for but they knew it was important. A man lead the group in a series of hymns and patriotic songs and then turned the podium over to someone else. The speech he gave wasn't too long and was greeted by nods of understanding and admiration from the grownups in the audience.

After the memorial service, the Henning family always took a walk through the cemetery. Grandpa would point out different grave stones as they walked saying something like, “That's where your great grandpa is buried. This is my mother's grave.” There were several grave stones that were pointed out as the people they represented were remembered and their places in the family tree were established for the younger generations. Some might think a stroll through the graveyard to be a strange activity especially for the children but none of the family thought this to be the case. The children listened attentively as the older generations spoke fondly of the relatives the younger generations never had the pleasure to know. 

The family eventually made their way back to the square where the afternoon activities were well under way. Several food booths were set up around the perimeter but the main event was the peddle tractor pull. The peddle tractor pull was just like a regular tractor pull. There were different tractor classes with different loads. The only thing that set it apart from other tractor pulls is that the tractors were peddle tractors and the drivers were children. The tractor classes were more or less designated by age. The Henning children never participated in this event. It wasn't that they weren't interested. They just had someplace else to be.

The family made their way back down the long hill to the van where they loaded up and turned back towards the farm. They turned into the gravel driveway and watched the white farmhouse grow closer and closer until they pulled into the parking spot and put the van in park. The family piled out of the vehicle and rushed towards the house. Dale and Christa smiled as they watched their kids split at the sidewalk. Caleb and Scott ran to the porch while the younger three veered right to the swing set. 

“It's time to make ice cream, right?” Caleb inquired as his younger brother leaned forward expectantly.

“Yes dear,” Christa responded with a smile. “It's time to make ice cream. As soon as your grandparents get here, I mean.”

Just as she finished speaking, a large gray Chevrolet Caprice drove slowly up the driveway. The boys jumped fro the porch and ran to greet their grandparents as they pulled into the yard and parked in the shade of a lonesome pear tree. Richard and Mary slowly got out of the car and made their way to the trunk. They boys met them with literal open arms knowing that there were several items that needed to be carried to the porch. Richard pulled the ice crusher out and handed it to Caleb. The ice crusher was a large squared-up chunk of cherry firewood that had a baseball bat handle attached securely in the top. It's purpose should be pretty self evident given it's name. Richard handed a large wooden bucket to Scott who felt more than a little bit important for having the privilege of carrying the ice cream maker.

Richard joined the boys at the porch with a feed sack that looked quite heavy. He dumped the contents of the sack out on the grass in front of the porch. Several plastic juice containers and milk jugs rolled out on the ground each jug was full of frozen water. Richard pulled a utility knife from his pocket and make several slits in one of the jugs and placed it back in the sack. He took the ice crusher from his older grandson and began using it to crush the ice. 

After a few moments he gave the boys a chance to demonstrate their ice crushing skills while he helped Mary pour a thick creamy liquid into a large stainless steel canister. He placed the canister into the wooden bucket and clasped the cranking mechanism across the top.

“How's that ice coming boys?” Richard inquired of his grandchildren.

“I'm pretty sure it's good to go,” Caleb responded.

Richard picked up the feed sack and poured the crushed ice around the silver canister. He slit another plastic bottle for crushing as he directed the boys to start cranking. Caleb grabbed the hand crank and got to work. As he cranked the handle, the canister started turning in the bucket. Richard added ice until the bucket was full and then he sprinkled the ice with rock salt. As the ice melted, the water surrounded the steel canister providing more even cooling coverage. The boys took turns cranking as their grandpa added ice as needed. Every so often, Richard would take the crank for a moment so that he could judge whether or not the ice cream was ready. The longer the boys cranked, the colder the contents of the canister got and the harder it got to turn the crank.

Finally, Richard declared the ice cream to be done. He removed the crank as the younger children swarmed around him. They watched with anticipation as their grandpa pulled the lid off of the canister and reached in for a shiny silver square rod that poked out of the top of the creamy ice cream. The shaft was the top of the dasher. The dasher was a metal stirring mechanism with wooden blades that ran along the inside walls of the canister. The dasher turned in the opposite direction from the canister to prevent the ice cream from freezing in a solid chunk. It also prevented the ice cream from freezing to the inside walls of the canister. The dasher was a very important piece of the ice cream making process for a couple of reason. Besides the practical aspects of the dasher, this piece of the equipment gave the family the first chance to test the product that they had worked so hard to create.

Richard pulled the dasher from the ice cream and carried it over a plate to a picnic table where there was room for everyone to gather around. Everyone grabbed a spoon from a pile and cleaned the dasher one spoonful at a time expressing copious amounts of delight as the sweet frozen food coated their tongues with flavor and sugar.

“Well,” Dale addressed the group. “What do you think? Should we go ahead and eat the rest or is it not any good?”

He was greeted by a chorus of yeahs, let's eat it's, and of course it's good's so Christa and Mary proceeded to hand out Styrofoam bowls to the kids who lined up in front of their grandpa to receive their share of the sweet frozen treat. They topped their ice cream with toppings ranging from caramel and hot fudge to bananas and maraschino cherries. The adults were not far behind the children in the consumption of the ice cream. Once everyone had their helpings, the grownups sat on the wicker furniture on the porch and talked in between bites. The children sat on the edge of the porch and on the steps as they enjoyed their ice cream without conversation. It was more efficient that way and everyone knew that there were limited second helpings.