My dad was born 90 years ago this week. He was one of the smartest men I have ever known. He was a fairly well-known expert on wild foods and herbs as well as a great storyteller. Even though our family did eat cattails, bulrushes and wild rice, all gathered by him, this story is not about that. My dad loved ice cream. Not the soft-serve type that comes swirled by machine into your cone, but real, hard ice-cream-scoop ice cream. He once gave me a black eye when the scoop slipped and my five-year-old-face was too close to the carton, waiting for my treat. He felt awfully bad about that, and I got an extra scoop that night to make me smile again. I remember summers at our cabin and Dad taking over the crank when it got too difficult for little girls to turn on the old-fashioned churn. Since we had no freezer there, we would always eat our fill of vanilla, swirled with wild strawberries that we had picked that morning and spooned out of lovely pressed-glass bowls that we still use today. We would always take a family hike afterward to walk it off. Sometimes when we would drive to that cabin, if we were really, really good, we could stop at Hayslip’s corner in Talmoon for an ice cream bar. I think he was more disappointed than we were if we argued or pinched each other on that 20 mile trip, which seemed to take forever. I still remember the anticipation…..would he stop? Is he slowing down? Aughhhhh! My favorite of all his stories was about ice cream: It was wintertime during the Great Depression, and there were no freezers during those days, just “ice boxes”, which really held a chunk of ice inside. My grandmother had purchased a container of ice cream for a special treat for her five sons. She put the ice cream on the back step to stay frozen, and when she went out to get it after dinner, found the family dog licking away at the ice cream. The boys were heartbroken, and my grandmother, who was of the “waste not want not” philosophy, scraped away the top layer and served it for dessert. My sister and I would listen in semi-horror, imagining eating something the dog had licked. We couldn’t possibly have understood, though, because we lived in a house that always had ice cream in the freezer and only knew about the depression through history books and our parents’ stories. Perhaps because of that long-ago hungry dog, Dad always shared a little scoop of his nightly treat with a succession of family pets, tossed out onto my mom’s clean kitchen floor, where they licked up every drop. I don’t think Mom ever knew that he did that, but he often did it with a twinkle in his eye and a finger to his lips. As I grew to adulthood, I realized there were lessons to be learned, even when it comes to ice cream: 1) Keep your eyes out of someone else’s business. 2) Lend a helping hand to those who are not as strong as you are. 3) Exercise. 4) Don’t pinch your sister. 5) Anticipation makes everything just a little sweeter. 6) Don’t be wasteful. 7) Be kind to animals. 8) There are some things that your mother just wouldn’t want to know.
I told you he was smart.
In loving memory of Gilbert Quaal 12/22/1921- 8/2/2002
Good memories always make life more interesting. What would we do without them? They are a blessing from God!
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Yes, they are! Thanks for reading!
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I thought I was signed up to get your posts via email… silly me, I only had you in the WordPress reader. I hardly ever go to the reader. Glad I did today! I loved your post, I’ve fixed my subscription, and I look forward to not missing any more of your lovely writing. ~ Lynda
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Thank you, Lynda.
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“… with a twinkle in his eye and a finger to his lips.” lol. i love that!!!
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