Tuesday, June 15, 2010
It's summer and lately I have seen posts about homemade ice cream and fresh picked raspberries. Thinking about these two items instantly takes me back to my summer days during my childhood at Mimi and Papa's house. The green house on twenty-first avenue. There was a large raspberry bush in the backyard behind the garage, and Papa would take us, the grandkids, to carefully pick without being pricked by the thorns. And there was homemade ice cream that seemed to take all day to get done. I remember going to the garage and checking Papa's progress with the cool treat. The best summer days were the ones when we sprinkled the raspberries on the vanilla dessert as we sat at the kitchen table in that green house where a white rotary phone perched on the wall.
Mimi and Papa moved out of that house a long time ago, I think between the end of my childhood and the beginning of my adolescence, but I close my eyes and can see it so clearly. Croquet playing in the backyard where if we hit the ball too hard it would roll down the blacktop alley on the side of the house. Red and white swingset that I vaguely remember falling off of at one point. Cousins visiting from Nevada, which meant organizing skits and dance and song routines to the Everly Brothers tape to perform for our parents. Sparklers on the Fourth of July in the front yard. Papa in a holey white t-shirt sitting in a lawn chair in the front yard carving something.
So when I purchased and devoured a blackberry concrete from a local ice cream place last week, it was an attempt to time-travel to homemade ice cream with raspberries on a summer day at the green house on twenty-first avenue. I didn't quite get there, but I was pretty darn close!