Creative Connections by Sara Aeikens

Hospitality and summertime picnics seem to tug my mind back to hometown North Dakota and memories of homemade outdoor feasts.

Recently I attended a 75th wedding anniversary celebration for a Fountain Lake neighborhood couple, their youngest daughter, my longtime friend. More than 70 people, mostly relatives from various corners of our country, gathered on the first Sunday in July. Threatening early morning weather of heavy dew, humidity and dark cloud storm banks disappeared as sun streaks broke through just as the planned picnic festivities began around noon at Frank Hall Park in Albert Lea.

I mingled among the many generations. Several of the picnic conversations took a theological bent with inspirational and contrasting Christian values giving me much food for thought for munching on in the future. These reminded me of similar dialogues when I visited this same friend over a decade ago for a week in Rotterdam.

Discussions evolved about the purpose of life and the hardships of Dutch families in her neighborhood forced out of their homes during World War II. My friend also extended her family hospitality to placing Dutch chocolate candy on my pillow to greet me at bedtime and her friendly cat for periodic purring and petting sessions.

At the Albert Lea family gathering, it became time to drop the in-depth exchanges when the picnic’s old-fashioned food delights appeared, spread out over several tables. I soon noticed the new surrounding smells and aromas of various foods that beckoned me to recall childhood family picnics. Picnic preparations made mainly by the two brothers impressed me because of the obvious care taken for the entire event and the amazing tasty results.

The main menu item of huge hot dogs sizzling on several charcoal grills near the food tables invited guests to sample and savor other offerings. Enticingly sweet sugared, baked beans and vinegar-enhanced skins-on potato salad both created old-time and unique park picnic flavors. My first such tastes for this summer, plain bright red Jell-O and contrasting curved deep pink triangle slices that turned out to be deliciously dripping watermelon chunks, served as dessert suggestions.

As I let the succulent flavors settle in my tummy, I noticed a more obvious dessert-labeled surprise at the foot of a food table. A cooler held several half-gallon ice cream pails next to a straight line of large root beer bottles. Stacks of big red plastic cups marched across the table end to complete combo ingredients for root beer floats.

While enjoying this final treat, talk turned to childhood picnic memories. Some recalled reserving a park picnic table by marking family territory with a shiny oilcloth of red and white checks. Potluck picnic time almost always included fried chicken, bratwurst and, of course, Grandma’s fluffy white buns. Deviled eggs on special glass plates with 12 ovals disappeared immediately.

Back then, on the ground surrounding the picnic tables, several cotton blankets might appear with a few youngsters rolling around while taking bites without silverware from their kitchen plates. In mid-summer, mosquitoes could probably be found nearby along with spiders, ants or tiny black bugs crawling across each individual food plates.

A few yards away a game of softball transpired, maybe in a cow pasture, with the boys and a girl or two dodging cow pies. You could find the elders playing horseshoes or a game of ring toss. If the picnic occurred in the zoo park, younger kids would drag the older ones to pet a camel or see the monkeys or a lion. I recall we’d beg for some coins to get pastel cotton candy or ride the merry-go-round.

For our family in North Dakota, a picnic might also mean berry picking in the hillside valleys. With a wire handle, a Karo syrup can was fastened onto our belts loops with a handmade hook twisted by our dad, our whole family of five, often including friends from the neighborhood, joined in berry picking because we could pick and nibble.

As we listened to croaking frogs by the streams in the coulees, we filled our buckets plumb full of plump June berries, raspberries, gooseberries or chokecherries. Then it was time to unfold our blanket and pull out all our picnic finger-foods.

Thank you to the continued hospitality of my friend living in Holland and her family here in Albert Lea for helping fill my memory bucket and triggering all these picnic treasures from the past.

Sara Aeikens is an Albert Lea resident.