My writer’s group was given the word cone to write a six line story or poem using the word at least once. It started me thinking of some of the treats, snacks we enjoyed in the summer.
My Mon had a tupperware set of six popcycle shapes with holders and a tray to keep the popcycles upright in the freezer. They were either lemonade or orange juice. I would suck the juice or flavor out of the treat and enjoy crunching on the ice that was left. The forms and holders were returned to the dishes to be washed and reused over and over.
After my Dad had cooked hamburgers or hot dogs on our round grill, we would cut green sticks from the apple tree to toast large marshmallows over the coals. No grams or Hersheys chocolate just the hot melting marshmallow toasted to a golden brown. That was the goal. Mine were either burned to a black as the sugar caught fire or the marshmallow became so soft that the whole piece melted falling into the coals. After one or two attempts, I gave up popping the marshmallow uncooked into my mouth. During Girl Scout Camp, I finally perfected the toasting with the adding of a chocolate piece smashed between two graham crackers.
The freezer also held a box of frozen petit fours. They had been hidden in the far corner of the freezer from the holidays. Upon finding them, I would take one from the package and move the rest around so my taking the treat would not be noticed right away. I could hide a half dozen stolen candies before discovery.
The raspberry patch was a favorite place to hide and munch on the lowest berries. I would lay between the bush and the picket fence eating my way down the row. As we became experts in leaving some berries after the first picking of the day..
Green apples grew on the two old trees in the back yard. They were small and could be wormy. I would examine one or two before biting into one. They were tart . One had to check the bitten apple to see if there were worm holes or worse a half of worm.
Our neighbor on the corner had a large mulberry tree. We knew when the fruit was ripe when the sidewalk was spotted with purple from fallen berries. I would reach for the darkest berries to munch on on my way home. My lips and fingers betrayed what I had been up to.
Finally, Mom would allow me to go into the fridge to take a couple of cabbage leaves to munch in my tree. I would pretend that the tree was my personal island. The grass was water. I could live in the tree and eat my cabbage. If I had to leave the safety of the tree, I would pretend to swim to the back door of the house.
I hope that you have special memories of your own summer treats.
Today’s poem
Treats
Egged on by friends, we searched for frozen petit fours.
It was easier to pick berries from the patch.
Lemonade popcycles and toasted marshmallows were a rarity.
I was allowed to grab cabbage leaves any time.
carolaspot@aol.com July 15, 2024
traveling up and down the blind highway 