May/June 2024 (Volume 16, Issue 3)

 

By Arvid Huisman

 

When the thermometer starts registering more than 90 and the relative humidity reaches the drip stage my cranial processor calls up memories of family reunions.

 

Reunions were a big part of our summers when I was growing up. Both of my parents were from large families and, as near as I can figure, I have at least 60 first cousins and even more second cousins. It was only natural that family reunions would be big events.

 

Our reunions were relatively simple occasions held at public parks in small towns. Most of them were “cousin reunions” where my parents gathered with their offspring as well as their aunts and uncles and their offspring. This resulted in the bonus of playing with second cousins as well as first cousins.

 

Reunion Sundays were busy days for Mom. In addition to getting her brood ready she had to bake pies and casserole dishes, mix up Kool-Aid™ and pack eating utensils. 

 

Our family would usually be early arrivals at the picnic grounds so we boys had a head start on the playground equipment. It was either go play or have a bunch of adults pat you on your butch haircut head and marvel at how much you had grown since the last reunion.

 

The sweetest sound of the day was when one of the women shouted that the picnic dinner was ready. While we stood in line anxiously awaiting the dozens of culinary delights, one of the older family members offered thanks. As soon as “amen” was uttered we kids were piling on scoops of potato salad, delicious casseroles, fried chicken, pea salad, several varieties of Jello™ salads, homemade bread, scalloped corn, meatballs, dill and sweet pickles and more. 

 

There was always plenty for another trip (or two) through the food line.

 

After dinner the kids disappeared to the playground or to a nearby swimming pool. The men passed the time sitting under shade trees talking about the corn crop, the price of hogs and the fools in Washington, D.C.

 

  As soon as the dishes were scraped clean and returned to picnic baskets, the women gathered around the tables in the picnic shelter to talk about whatever women talk about. I suspect that their discussion at times may have centered on the fools sitting under the shade trees talking about the fools in Washington, D.C.

 

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