We always referred to the house as "The Cottage". It wasn't very fancy nor was it very large. There was no heat, no hot water, no shower, and no foundation (until later). In the early years the cottage was painted barn red with white trim. There was a flagstone walk up to the front door and a small stoop with a roof over it.
The front door opened into a large room known as the dining room with a big oval shaped dining table in the middle. To the left of this room was the living room, and to the right of the dining room was a small kitchen followed by a screened porch. The second floor of this rectangular structure was basically a dormitory. At the top of the stairs was a big room filled with beds. Two old iron double beds, and two narrow twin size beds, or cots, with one open closet in the middle. At one end was my parents room which had two double beds, a crib, a dresser and a nightstand. At their bedroom door was a white curtain which they pulled shut at night so they could have a little privacy. The other end of the second floor was what we called the "sleeping porch". It contained four army cots, covered with army blankets and this is where the four oldest boys slept. All the floors upstairs were wood which were painted gray. When we had a rain storm at night, my parents would go around closing the windows which ran all along the sides of the second floor. I used to love the sound of rain on the roof and felt so comforted by Mom and Dad going around to the windows and stopping to pull blankets up around us.
Every June, as we walked into the cottage for the first time, we were enveloped by the unmistakable smell that is hard to describe, but is a combination of wind, dust, water, sand, trees, fish, gulls, shells, old books, the sun the moon and the stars.
We would immediately take in the familiar items that live in the cottage: the old black and white photos hanging on the wall in the dining room, the old caps and straw hats on the wooden pegs behind the front door, the checkers game and playing cards on the bookshelves, the poker chip carousel, the large wall map of Lake Erie, that had a red circle drawn around Luna Pier with the words "we are here" written in red nail polish, big shells that were used as ashtrays, and the cardboard box that contained dozens of vintage postcards sent by family and friends from travels near and far.
In the kitchen was the cookie jar in the shape of a smiling cat and a milk glass dish shaped like a hen with a red hat and red beak. Everything was always the same and in it's proper lace, even the salt and pepper shakers. This is what was so calming about the cottage, that constancy and sameness that made it uniquely ours, where we were free to enjoy the sights and fun and sounds of summer.
We had a counter that overlooked the kitchen and this was known as the "bar". It had four yellow wooden stools and on regular week nights, we four youngest kids (Steve, Emilie, Chris, and me) ate our dinners there. It was the perfect spot to see everything that was going on and a great perch to watch my mother. She was a great cook and I used to love to visit with her while she prepared meals on a daily basis, but I especially enjoyed the weekends. This was when we had relatives and friends up to the cottage for boat rides and dinner. There was fried chicken, potato salad, huge trays of watermelon, fresh corn and tomatoes, deviled eggs, pies, and ice cream. I learned to love cooking by watching her at the cottage.
Here's one of her favorite recipes:
( I memorized this recipe as a girl and still make it today. I would call it a spread rather than a dip. It's delicious and always a crowd pleaser.)
Blue Cheese Dip
1 (3-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (3 ounce) package blue cheese, softened
1/4 cup butter, softened
1 tablespoon brandy
Combine cream cheese, blue cheese, and butter; beat at medium speed of an electric mixer until smooth. Add brandy, mixing well. Serve with crackers or sliced apples or pears.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, May 3, 2010
Times are changing
My last post had to do with the journey from our city home to our summer cottage. Our drive to the lake was always the same route along state two lane highways and country back roads.
Things changed one summer during the 1950s.
Our cottage stood on a street called First St. It was a dirt road and there were only four houses on it. At the very top of First St. sat a wood frame Catholic Chapel which was owned and operated by the Diocese of Monroe, Michigan. It was only used in the summer months to accommodate people, like our family, who came to Luna Pier just for the summer. There was only one Mass said on Sunday and we always attended it because that meant we could sleep later and not have to drive to the small town of Erie and St. Josephs Church. When I say wood frame, I mean it literally. This was a bare bones wood structure, painted white on the outside, while the interior had absolutely no ornamentation or statues or any kind of embellishment. What I recall vividly was that it was always crowded, always hot and there were no pads of the kneelers. For a five year old, this was the worst thing I had to endure.
Next to the chapel there was a tiny house painted pink and inhabited by a middle age couple who lived there all through the year. I can't remember their name, but I seem to remember thinking they weren't very friendly. They probably dreaded our arrival with all our noise and boisterous shenanigans.
Then came our house. It was a two story rectangular home painted barn red and trimmed in white. It had a smallish side yard with two large trees perfect for climbing, and a white picket fence in front of it along the road.
Next to us, at the end of the street sat a small one story dwelling that had some sort of siding on the outside that always reminded me of sandpaper. The name of that family was Perry. They were our next door neighbors all the years I was growing up. They also lived in Luna Pier all year long.
Across the street there was only one house, or I should say a large two family house. Before I came along, the place was owned by a huge Irish clan who came only for the summer and brought all their friends. My parents and older siblings used to reminisce about the days when the O'Dwyers lived there and all the fun they had together. That house was vacant for much of the fifties until a family moved in from Toledo later in the decade.
Our street was a dead end and behind it was an enormous corn field owned by a farmer named Cousino who lived at the far end of the field. That field was a great source of fun for us. We used to love to play hide and seek in the midst of it, all the while dreading being caught by the farmer because we knew he would yell at us and tell us to get off of his property. The corn field stretched all the way to the railroad tracks I mentioned in my earlier post.
In the summer of 1955 we arrived at the lake to find road scrappers and bulldozers and dump trucks lined up along the country lanes. President Eisenhower had started to build the interstate highway system and I75 was going to be put in right between the cottage and the railroad tracks. That whole summer we had all the noise it takes to build an interstate highway. All day long the trucks and dirt spreaders went back and forth behind our house, approximately one half mile away. As children, we were fascinated by the enormous machinery and power of the road scrappers noisily doing their work and we would go into the field and run to the edge of the work site to watch more closely with fascination.
After that, Luna Pier was never as quiet as before. We could always hear the interstate. Up until then, as we fell asleep, all we could hear were the raindrops tapping on the wooden roof during a summer shower, and now and then the lovely, soothing whistle of a freight train.
This intruder, this sign of progress, did not dampen our spirits. Our daily lives remained the same. In the evening we could see the sun begin to stretch farther and farther over the flat landscape toward the west. Often, after an especially beautiful sunny day, Dad would call us to one of the windows that faced the stunning red, orange and pink sunset. He would talk to us about the beauty and uniqueness of the world and the wonders it provided. And he would tell us that we mustn't take this sight for granted, after all, "if this sunset only happened every ten years, people would come from all over just to get a look at it". So true.
Things changed one summer during the 1950s.
Our cottage stood on a street called First St. It was a dirt road and there were only four houses on it. At the very top of First St. sat a wood frame Catholic Chapel which was owned and operated by the Diocese of Monroe, Michigan. It was only used in the summer months to accommodate people, like our family, who came to Luna Pier just for the summer. There was only one Mass said on Sunday and we always attended it because that meant we could sleep later and not have to drive to the small town of Erie and St. Josephs Church. When I say wood frame, I mean it literally. This was a bare bones wood structure, painted white on the outside, while the interior had absolutely no ornamentation or statues or any kind of embellishment. What I recall vividly was that it was always crowded, always hot and there were no pads of the kneelers. For a five year old, this was the worst thing I had to endure.
Next to the chapel there was a tiny house painted pink and inhabited by a middle age couple who lived there all through the year. I can't remember their name, but I seem to remember thinking they weren't very friendly. They probably dreaded our arrival with all our noise and boisterous shenanigans.
Then came our house. It was a two story rectangular home painted barn red and trimmed in white. It had a smallish side yard with two large trees perfect for climbing, and a white picket fence in front of it along the road.
Next to us, at the end of the street sat a small one story dwelling that had some sort of siding on the outside that always reminded me of sandpaper. The name of that family was Perry. They were our next door neighbors all the years I was growing up. They also lived in Luna Pier all year long.
Across the street there was only one house, or I should say a large two family house. Before I came along, the place was owned by a huge Irish clan who came only for the summer and brought all their friends. My parents and older siblings used to reminisce about the days when the O'Dwyers lived there and all the fun they had together. That house was vacant for much of the fifties until a family moved in from Toledo later in the decade.
Our street was a dead end and behind it was an enormous corn field owned by a farmer named Cousino who lived at the far end of the field. That field was a great source of fun for us. We used to love to play hide and seek in the midst of it, all the while dreading being caught by the farmer because we knew he would yell at us and tell us to get off of his property. The corn field stretched all the way to the railroad tracks I mentioned in my earlier post.
In the summer of 1955 we arrived at the lake to find road scrappers and bulldozers and dump trucks lined up along the country lanes. President Eisenhower had started to build the interstate highway system and I75 was going to be put in right between the cottage and the railroad tracks. That whole summer we had all the noise it takes to build an interstate highway. All day long the trucks and dirt spreaders went back and forth behind our house, approximately one half mile away. As children, we were fascinated by the enormous machinery and power of the road scrappers noisily doing their work and we would go into the field and run to the edge of the work site to watch more closely with fascination.
After that, Luna Pier was never as quiet as before. We could always hear the interstate. Up until then, as we fell asleep, all we could hear were the raindrops tapping on the wooden roof during a summer shower, and now and then the lovely, soothing whistle of a freight train.
This intruder, this sign of progress, did not dampen our spirits. Our daily lives remained the same. In the evening we could see the sun begin to stretch farther and farther over the flat landscape toward the west. Often, after an especially beautiful sunny day, Dad would call us to one of the windows that faced the stunning red, orange and pink sunset. He would talk to us about the beauty and uniqueness of the world and the wonders it provided. And he would tell us that we mustn't take this sight for granted, after all, "if this sunset only happened every ten years, people would come from all over just to get a look at it". So true.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Getting There.
I can't believe how long it's been since I wrote in this blog. Chrissy and Melisa were here over the weekend and convinced me to get back to it. I don't know where the time went, but I have truly neglected my writing.
Spring is here and that means summer is close behind. Summer means so many things to me. At this time in my life it means boating on Long Island Sound with my husband John and our many friends. We spend countless hours cruising the many interesting and beautiful ports up and down the Connecticut and Long Island coasts. I love being on the water and being there always takes me back to my childhood summers at Luna Pier on Lake Erie.
As I wrote earlier, the day after school was out in June, we packed the cars with everything and headed to "the lake". It was only a fifteen mile drive from our home in Toledo, but to me it seemed very far away indeed. In my earliest memories, we drove up on the Dixie Highway. This was a two lane road that crossed from Ohio into Michigan and the flat farmland. Almost as soon as we drove out of the Toledo city limits, we were in Michigan and the countryside. Gone were the industrial buildings and factories of Northwestern Ohio as we came upon farm after farm. As a child I loved this transformation. It seemed so exotic to see groups of cows and horses grazing and staring at the traffic as it passed. There were lots of corn fields and tomato patches and an occasional farmer wearing a large straw hat, and denim overalls, riding his tractor on the road. We also passed a section of road that had been hit by a tornado a few years earlier. There were two homes that had been badly damaged, and they sat untouched and empty. One had it's roof blown off and the other had it's front porch crushed by a fallen tree. As we passed, my mother would drive very slowly and we all would stare, wide eyed, at the ghostly sight of wind blowing through the shattered windows with torn and frayed curtains billowing about. Thinking about it even now sends a chill through me.
We eventually came to an intersection and turned right onto Luna Pier RD toward the lake.
Another two lane byway and more into the country than the last. This one was all farms, each one neat as a pin with its trimmed , lush lawn and perfectly plowed fields. Along with the usual barns and outbuildings, there was always a large farm house and often a small produce stand where the farmer and his wife would sell flowers and vegetables which were grown in the rich midwestern soil..
Pretty soon we would cross the railroad tracks and that meant we were nearly there. In those days there were no gates that came down when a train was near to protect cars from disaster, so my mother would ask us to watch out for an oncoming train. It became sort of a game for my sister and me. As soon as we got near the tracks, mom would say"Anything coming girls?" And in unison Emilie and I would begin looking right to left, calling out "nothing coming, nothing coming, nothing coming. . ." over and over. We would move our heads back and forth so fast that we saw nothing. I think we even closed our eyes.
We finally reached Luna Pier and could see the lake at the end of the road. Back in the 1920s and 1930s when my parents were young, there was an actual pier out onto the lake. Big bands, such as Guy Lombardo were brought in and couples could dance under the stars during the summer. The pier is no longer there, but the thought of all that beautiful music and dancing conjures up some lovely and romantic images.
The car turned left and we started the drive to the cottage along the lake. I can still see the gulls in the sky and the rickety docks in front of the small, modest homes. There were many wooden water craft sitting silently in the water, waiting to be taken for a spin. Just as many boats of all sizes and shapes sat in front and back yards hoping to get a fresh coat of paint for the season before being launched. The twisty, crazy eight road was not paved, but all gravel and full of holes. We passed all the familiar houses with our windows down (no AC) waving to friends we hadn't seen since September. Most of these people lived there all year and for them it must have been a sure sign that summer was here when the Wenzlers arrived. At last we could see our house and we would all let out a big cheer, very happy to be at the lake. Finally away from the routine of daily Mass, school, homework, paper routes, and Brownie meetings. These were the few precious months of lazy, hazy days, sleeping late, playing checkers, cards, Scrabble, hours of swimming, catching fireflies, and going barefoot.
Spring is here and that means summer is close behind. Summer means so many things to me. At this time in my life it means boating on Long Island Sound with my husband John and our many friends. We spend countless hours cruising the many interesting and beautiful ports up and down the Connecticut and Long Island coasts. I love being on the water and being there always takes me back to my childhood summers at Luna Pier on Lake Erie.
As I wrote earlier, the day after school was out in June, we packed the cars with everything and headed to "the lake". It was only a fifteen mile drive from our home in Toledo, but to me it seemed very far away indeed. In my earliest memories, we drove up on the Dixie Highway. This was a two lane road that crossed from Ohio into Michigan and the flat farmland. Almost as soon as we drove out of the Toledo city limits, we were in Michigan and the countryside. Gone were the industrial buildings and factories of Northwestern Ohio as we came upon farm after farm. As a child I loved this transformation. It seemed so exotic to see groups of cows and horses grazing and staring at the traffic as it passed. There were lots of corn fields and tomato patches and an occasional farmer wearing a large straw hat, and denim overalls, riding his tractor on the road. We also passed a section of road that had been hit by a tornado a few years earlier. There were two homes that had been badly damaged, and they sat untouched and empty. One had it's roof blown off and the other had it's front porch crushed by a fallen tree. As we passed, my mother would drive very slowly and we all would stare, wide eyed, at the ghostly sight of wind blowing through the shattered windows with torn and frayed curtains billowing about. Thinking about it even now sends a chill through me.
We eventually came to an intersection and turned right onto Luna Pier RD toward the lake.
Another two lane byway and more into the country than the last. This one was all farms, each one neat as a pin with its trimmed , lush lawn and perfectly plowed fields. Along with the usual barns and outbuildings, there was always a large farm house and often a small produce stand where the farmer and his wife would sell flowers and vegetables which were grown in the rich midwestern soil..
Pretty soon we would cross the railroad tracks and that meant we were nearly there. In those days there were no gates that came down when a train was near to protect cars from disaster, so my mother would ask us to watch out for an oncoming train. It became sort of a game for my sister and me. As soon as we got near the tracks, mom would say"Anything coming girls?" And in unison Emilie and I would begin looking right to left, calling out "nothing coming, nothing coming, nothing coming. . ." over and over. We would move our heads back and forth so fast that we saw nothing. I think we even closed our eyes.
We finally reached Luna Pier and could see the lake at the end of the road. Back in the 1920s and 1930s when my parents were young, there was an actual pier out onto the lake. Big bands, such as Guy Lombardo were brought in and couples could dance under the stars during the summer. The pier is no longer there, but the thought of all that beautiful music and dancing conjures up some lovely and romantic images.
The car turned left and we started the drive to the cottage along the lake. I can still see the gulls in the sky and the rickety docks in front of the small, modest homes. There were many wooden water craft sitting silently in the water, waiting to be taken for a spin. Just as many boats of all sizes and shapes sat in front and back yards hoping to get a fresh coat of paint for the season before being launched. The twisty, crazy eight road was not paved, but all gravel and full of holes. We passed all the familiar houses with our windows down (no AC) waving to friends we hadn't seen since September. Most of these people lived there all year and for them it must have been a sure sign that summer was here when the Wenzlers arrived. At last we could see our house and we would all let out a big cheer, very happy to be at the lake. Finally away from the routine of daily Mass, school, homework, paper routes, and Brownie meetings. These were the few precious months of lazy, hazy days, sleeping late, playing checkers, cards, Scrabble, hours of swimming, catching fireflies, and going barefoot.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
No Sweat
Okay, I'm back. There is so much to write about that it's hard to know where to start.
Early memories from the fifties when I was just a tyke, flood throug my brain. Last weekend, I was sailing with a couple of brothers who helped jar my memory about a few things that happened when I was very small.
We had a wooden sailboat called a Nipper. It was built in Toledo by a man named Ray Green. I never knew this but apparently he was well known in the Great Lakes as an accomplished designer of sailing craft.
This boat was twelve feet long, and looked much like a Cat boat with the mast far at the bow. She was built of plywood and was the property of my two oldest brothers David and Fritz. They were teenagers and were apt to reply to requests of any kind by my dad with the words "No Sweat", meaning they would get to the task when they felt like it. One day they went to go sailing and found that dad had stenciled the words "No Sweat" on the back of the Nipper, thus she was christened. What a beauty she was, small and tidy and painted bright bumble bee yellow with black trim.
One summer day, three of us set out for a sail. I was no more than five along with Chris, then seven and Fritz as the captain, age sixteen. We traveled along the Lake Erie shore and all was well until we were hit by a sudden thunderstorm. The wind picked up and the boat started to heel and heel again, until we heeled so much that the boat capsized. All I can remember is that it was like a slow motion picture and the three of us fell onto the sail as the boat went over. Well, our family was never very good about having life jackets or anything that sensible, so we were suddenly plunged into the chilly water which was over my head. I remember being very frieightened, and trying to cling to the boat and crying and being cold. Suddenly, out of nowhere a neighbor came out in his motorboat and rescued us.
This neighbor was one of three brothers who all had houses next to each other on the beach. They all had housefuls of kids and theirs were the homes that always seemed even more chaotic than mine. You never knew what you'd find when you went inside. Once I recall going in and finding that the father had taken apart an outboard engine in the living room and was repairing it. They were kind and fun people and they could see everything on the water-thus our rescue.
That experience remains in my mind as a clear memory of the day I nearly drowned. I have no idea what happened then, just that we were safe.
I don't think I ever went back out on the "No Sweat".
Stay tuned for: Five boats and a Raft, The Tooth Fairy Story, Building Interstate 75, Mr Keeney, and much more.
Early memories from the fifties when I was just a tyke, flood throug my brain. Last weekend, I was sailing with a couple of brothers who helped jar my memory about a few things that happened when I was very small.
We had a wooden sailboat called a Nipper. It was built in Toledo by a man named Ray Green. I never knew this but apparently he was well known in the Great Lakes as an accomplished designer of sailing craft.
This boat was twelve feet long, and looked much like a Cat boat with the mast far at the bow. She was built of plywood and was the property of my two oldest brothers David and Fritz. They were teenagers and were apt to reply to requests of any kind by my dad with the words "No Sweat", meaning they would get to the task when they felt like it. One day they went to go sailing and found that dad had stenciled the words "No Sweat" on the back of the Nipper, thus she was christened. What a beauty she was, small and tidy and painted bright bumble bee yellow with black trim.
One summer day, three of us set out for a sail. I was no more than five along with Chris, then seven and Fritz as the captain, age sixteen. We traveled along the Lake Erie shore and all was well until we were hit by a sudden thunderstorm. The wind picked up and the boat started to heel and heel again, until we heeled so much that the boat capsized. All I can remember is that it was like a slow motion picture and the three of us fell onto the sail as the boat went over. Well, our family was never very good about having life jackets or anything that sensible, so we were suddenly plunged into the chilly water which was over my head. I remember being very frieightened, and trying to cling to the boat and crying and being cold. Suddenly, out of nowhere a neighbor came out in his motorboat and rescued us.
This neighbor was one of three brothers who all had houses next to each other on the beach. They all had housefuls of kids and theirs were the homes that always seemed even more chaotic than mine. You never knew what you'd find when you went inside. Once I recall going in and finding that the father had taken apart an outboard engine in the living room and was repairing it. They were kind and fun people and they could see everything on the water-thus our rescue.
That experience remains in my mind as a clear memory of the day I nearly drowned. I have no idea what happened then, just that we were safe.
I don't think I ever went back out on the "No Sweat".
Stay tuned for: Five boats and a Raft, The Tooth Fairy Story, Building Interstate 75, Mr Keeney, and much more.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
memories and moving
My earliest memories are probably from the time I was about 5 years old.
As soon as school was out, the family would literally move to Luna Pier. We would pack two Chevys till they were nearly bursting with clothes, food, linens, not to mention children, and anything we thought we had to have for the summer. It wasn't that we would not be seeing our "city house" until September. On the contrary, our cottage was a mere fifteen miles from our home town of Toledo, Ohio, but for a young child like me, moving day was quite final until school started again after Labor day. I thought I miles away from my everyday life, I wouldn't be seeing my room or friends for three long months. I packed my favorite books, dolls and various trinkets that made me feel secure.
The first days of summer after arriving at the cottage, everything seemed new and different and familiar at the same time. Like the fishing poles stacked behing the front door and the coat rack next to it. My mother's plaid sweater still hanging there after the long, cold winter. As though it was only meant to be there on that hook, lonely and chilly. I can't recall ever seeing her wear it.
Several weeks before moving day, the family would go up the "the lake" on saturdays and clean. We would wash all the linens and make all the beds and sweep the dead spiders out the front door. We scrubbed the black and white tiled floor and mop the steps and tidied up the yard, weeded the beds and planted zinnia and marigold seeds. It was always chilly on those days and my mother would bring homemade soup along or chili for our lunch.
As kids, we were always anxious to get going and move-after all, it meant no school and we could sleep late in the morning.
And there was the lure of Lake Erie just at the end of our little street. We couldn't wait to be the first in the water. We had contests to see who could go for a swim in June, the earlier the better.
The water was always freezing at that time of year, and we would put on our new bathing suits and run to the water. After we all finally got in, our lips were blue from the cold water as well as the air. But we were very satisfied after such an accomplishment and we knew then that summer was here and we were at the lake..
Dinner could be fried chicken or spaghetti, followed by a game of scrabble or cards and when the sun went down at arould nine-thirty, we went to bed happy and tired.
As soon as school was out, the family would literally move to Luna Pier. We would pack two Chevys till they were nearly bursting with clothes, food, linens, not to mention children, and anything we thought we had to have for the summer. It wasn't that we would not be seeing our "city house" until September. On the contrary, our cottage was a mere fifteen miles from our home town of Toledo, Ohio, but for a young child like me, moving day was quite final until school started again after Labor day. I thought I miles away from my everyday life, I wouldn't be seeing my room or friends for three long months. I packed my favorite books, dolls and various trinkets that made me feel secure.
The first days of summer after arriving at the cottage, everything seemed new and different and familiar at the same time. Like the fishing poles stacked behing the front door and the coat rack next to it. My mother's plaid sweater still hanging there after the long, cold winter. As though it was only meant to be there on that hook, lonely and chilly. I can't recall ever seeing her wear it.
Several weeks before moving day, the family would go up the "the lake" on saturdays and clean. We would wash all the linens and make all the beds and sweep the dead spiders out the front door. We scrubbed the black and white tiled floor and mop the steps and tidied up the yard, weeded the beds and planted zinnia and marigold seeds. It was always chilly on those days and my mother would bring homemade soup along or chili for our lunch.
As kids, we were always anxious to get going and move-after all, it meant no school and we could sleep late in the morning.
And there was the lure of Lake Erie just at the end of our little street. We couldn't wait to be the first in the water. We had contests to see who could go for a swim in June, the earlier the better.
The water was always freezing at that time of year, and we would put on our new bathing suits and run to the water. After we all finally got in, our lips were blue from the cold water as well as the air. But we were very satisfied after such an accomplishment and we knew then that summer was here and we were at the lake..
Dinner could be fried chicken or spaghetti, followed by a game of scrabble or cards and when the sun went down at arould nine-thirty, we went to bed happy and tired.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Luna Pier is the town on the shores of Lake Erie where I spent every summer with my large, gregarious family. There are many, many fond and rich memories of my childhood summers spent in this town and our "true" cottage, which was built in 1918 when my father was a young boy.
My parents purchased it from my grandparents during the depression because their family was growing and they thought it would be a good place to deposit a pack of unruley youngsters during those lazy, hazy days.
I remember poison ivy, sunburns, lots and lots of swimming and fishing, fresh tomatoes and sweet corn from local farmstands, bonfires, dad shooting off fireworks, song fests, fireflies. . .you get the picture-a sort of long lost idyllic time which seems so innocent and carefree compared to today.
My parents purchased it from my grandparents during the depression because their family was growing and they thought it would be a good place to deposit a pack of unruley youngsters during those lazy, hazy days.
I remember poison ivy, sunburns, lots and lots of swimming and fishing, fresh tomatoes and sweet corn from local farmstands, bonfires, dad shooting off fireworks, song fests, fireflies. . .you get the picture-a sort of long lost idyllic time which seems so innocent and carefree compared to today.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Father's Day
Thinking of fathers day in the 50s and 60s at Luna Pier-nice memories.
In 1960, before Kennedy was elected, mom took photos of dad and made them into a campaign-we made signs saying "Wenzler for pres" and "he's our man!!. Then we hung red, white and blue crepe paper all over the cottage.
In 1960, before Kennedy was elected, mom took photos of dad and made them into a campaign-we made signs saying "Wenzler for pres" and "he's our man!!. Then we hung red, white and blue crepe paper all over the cottage.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
