Havin' Fun

I might have called this merry scene “Sports Day” or even “The Sunday School Picnic,” but for me it recalls the school picnics of my childhood. It captures that much-anticipated late spring day when our elementary school teachers reinvented themselves as the directors of our play activities—coaches, judges, and umpires. No bounce houses or ball pits here. Instead, an adult committee, composed of parents and teachers, worked for weeks rounding up burlap sacks, sturdy ropes, and all manner of balls and balloons, plus inexpensive prizes, to keep us occupied for the day. While I don’t think water balloon fights or tossing the girls into the creek were on the official agenda, these activities were no doubt anticipated and cheerfully ignored by the adults in charge. We kids arrived dressed for play and armed with a fistful of “tickets” that had been distributed in our classrooms before loading the bus that morning. The complimentary tickets were to be used to “buy” unlimited quantities of hot dogs, ice cream treats, and soda. It all made for a day of fun and probably more than a few bellyaches!

Throughout the long winter, these folks were propelled and cheered by thoughts and dreams of catching the “big one,” of food cooked over an open fire, of days spent on the water and in the water, of enjoying time with family and renewing friendships—all in the Great Outdoors. Even for moms, still tasked with preparing meals and doing laundry (or at least hanging wet towels and suits to dry), the pace slows and the inconveniences are part of the adventure. A good book awaits, and maybe a nap in the hammock. And, after all, who cares if there are ants in the salad?! 

Dreams are made of the delights viewed through the windows of a busy neighborhood bakery on a Saturday morning. Folks of all ages and sizes wait patiently in line to stock up on sweet provisions for the weekend. As the door opens, the warm scent of yeast dough, cinnamon, spices, and chocolate wafts through the air, issuing a tempting invitation to passers-by.

     My mom was a wonderful baker and kept our family well stocked with cakes, cookies, kuchens, bread, dinner rolls, and other "yeast goods" during the week. But, come Saturday morning, whoever got up early enough in my house could accompany my dad on his jaunt to the village bakery. Hard rolls—semmels and kaisers—were always a must-have for Saturday breakfast, but Dad's big interest at the bakery was choosing schnecks (sweet rolls) for breakfast "dessert." Whoever accompanied him got to choose their favorite. That was enough to make an early riser out of me!

These lake dwellers know how to deal with a scorching day. They're lounging, reading in the hammock, or taking a refreshing swim. Then, from across the lake comes a vague, tinkling melody. The merry tune grows louder, becoming an identifiable children's chant, "Peter, Peter Pumpkin-Eater." Soon, nosing around the point, a gaily-festooned vision appears: "It's the Ice Cream Man!" He has repurposed an aging pontoon boat, equipping it with an umbrella table, freezer, and grill. His menu board proclaims ice cream treats and simple sandwiches. The kids turn their attention from their activities and emerge—dripping—from the water to plead for money from their parents to buy a treat. To the delight of our lake dwellers, this enterprising fellow has brought the iconic American "Good Humor Man" to the lake!

Note: This is not a figment of the artist's imagination. The Ice Cream Boat is a sight spotted on any number of northern Wisconsin lakes. The image cannot help but bring a smile.

Historically, whenever possible, farmers have selected land that abuts a water source. In the upper Midwest, with its abundance of lakes and streams, this was an easy task. By the mid-twentieth century, with the growth of sport fishing, farmers realized they could sell off narrow, unneeded strips of lake frontage to satisfy the desires of the fishermen for permanent access to the fish-laden waters.

    On this land, the fishermen built rustic cabins (typically one or two rooms without the benefit of indoor plumbing) to use with family or other devotees of the sport during the warmer months. They fished in the sun and in the rain, in early morning and late into the night, always hoping to bring home the Big One . . . or, at least, a full stringer worthy of a photograph. 

To many children growing up in the 1950s, "vacation" meant a drive in the family car to a modest cabin in northern Wisconsin, Michigan, or Minnesota—"up north." There, for a week or two, the entire family relished the pine-scented woods, the gentle lap of the lake against the shore, and the quiet of the night. By day, they hiked, swam, fished, canoed, and picked wild berries. And, if they were really lucky, someone nearby would have a ski boat and invite the vacationers to try water-skiing. Best of all was when friends from home stopped by to join in the fun!

While traveling the back roads of Wisconsin, I have often marveled at the dedication of the small dairy farmers and their families to the land, their livestock, and their lifestyle. It is an incredibly demanding routine, and a sometimes tedious choice they have made. But, perhaps to them, the hard-earned yet simple benefits as represented in "The Dairy Farm Family's Vacation" make the choice a worthy investment.

    I noticed this barn and its immediate surroundings on a trip into eastern Brown County. The trees providing a shaded barnyard and the hay bales rolled up in front of the barn doors and in the fields beyond captured my attention and imagination. It was early afternoon, so the cows had been milked and put out to pasture. The chickens were fed and ranging about, and the other morning chores had been accomplished. Although it was high summer, the jumbo rolls of baled hay indicated that—at least for now—the fieldwork was done. The air was still and very warm. I could imagine this dairy farmer's family taking the rare opportunity for some recreation close to home, the stream and pond meeting all of their needs for a bit of fun before beginning, once again, the evening routine of milking the herd, gathering the chickens into their coop, and putting the farm to bed until morning.

A while ago, a friend sent me a YouTube video that I found so hysterical and so typical of bovine behavior that I had to try translating it into a painting. It seems The New Hot 5, an American, New Orleans–style jazz group, was touring rural France when they came upon a field of grazing cattle. The musicians decided, then and there, to give the cows an impromptu concert. The video shows the cows moving briskly (for cows) to the fence line to enjoy—with rapt attention—some Dixieland jazz.

    To my biased mind, the event should have occurred in Wisconsin, so I moved the scene to the Driftless Region in the western part of the state, to the iconic Jon Lee farm in Coon Valley. (That's the steeple of Coon Valley Lutheran Church you see peeking up above the rooftops of the Lee Farm.) I changed out Farmer Lee's beef cattle for a herd of mixed dairy cows and brought in the musicians. I can almost hear the strains of "When the Saints Go Marchin' In." Can you?

Be sure to check out The New Hot 5 and their video on YouTube.

In the middle decades of the twentieth century, every neighborhood had at least one—a family dedicated to the pleasures and adventure of "roughing it," by camping in the great out-of-doors. This preceded "glamping," RVs, Winnebagos, and even pop-ups. 

    Dad would load up the family station wagon or open trailer towed by a sedan. Tents, thermoses, coolers, sleeping bags, oil lanterns, and flashlights were among the gear hauled to the campsite, along with clothing, food, and cooking and washing utensils gathered by Mom. Kids were in charge of fishing poles and inner tubes. With all this gear plus a family to carry, the stuff was often piled and tied higgledy-piggledy on top of the car. Public or private campsites were "fully equipped" with outhouses and possibly a hand pump for water—no electricity. "Deprived" of all modern conveniences, families reveled in being together, enjoying a rustic lifestyle in the woods on the banks of a lake or river. New friendships were forged, everything was fun (even the dullest chores), and great memories were made!

The mention of Independence Day evokes memories as diverse as the people who celebrate that day. For many, the day is all about parades, games, fireworks, and the chance to gather with family and friends for a celebratory meal, usually enjoyed in the park or as a backyard picnic. 

    The group gathered in this mid-twentieth-century backyard (notice the 48-star flag) is typical in its activities. The adults are enjoying conversation while they await the meal prepared in the kitchen and by the stogie-smoking grill master. The kids are bored with all the conversation. Having paraded decorated bikes and wagons and eaten their fill of hot dogs, soda water, and sweets, they are looking for diversions to hurry the passage of time, bringing the night—and the booming fireworks!—closer.

I love a parade—in particular those that revolve around our American patriotic holidays: Armed Forces Day, Memorial Day, Veteran's Day and, most especially, Independence Day—the glorious 4th of July! These parades wouldn't be complete without vintage cars, gaudy floats, military members in their dress uniforms, kids on decorated bikes or wagons, costumed folks and pets, prize-winning livestock, and, of course, a waving beauty queen or two. Best of all is the rumble you feel in the pit of your stomach as the big bass drums herald the approach of a high-stepping band playing a rousing Sousa march! Whether in a big city, small town, or rural road, the parades all share a bounty of the stars and stripes in flags, bunting, and even the clothing carefully chosen to express the patriotism of parade participants and cheering audiences. Can you feel the excitement? Here comes the parade! Hooray for the red-white-and-blue!