Of Family Reunions and Food
Childhood summer and watermelon memories of 1956
Childhood memories don’t always involve expensive trips or treats. Carol Giuliani recalls family reunions and food – especially watermelons – from 1956, in Boomer’s From Our Readers.
When I look back on the joys of growing up during a much simpler time in the ’50s, I think back on experiences involving financially limited events away from home that led to a lifetime of wonderful memories. One of those memories included at least two summer trips to Belmont State Park in Suffolk County, one with my mother’s side of the family and one with my father’s. The purpose of this family get-together was to bond with family, have a barbecue, play games and sports, and go row boating in the beautiful tree-lined lake next to the picnic table. It was so well planned with everyone assigned their food contribution and always enough for twice as many.
The large shiny pink and green ice-cold watermelon was carried in a colorful old rusty baby stroller, pushed by my father on a hot July day each year to our annual family picnic at Belmont Park in Babylon Long Island. It was a historic meeting ground for families as it had a large lake with row boats to rent, numerus ball fields, trails and picnic tables under old oak and pine shade trees.
We met out here as this was a reunion each year with my father’s family who lived mostly what we considered “in the country” in Islip Long Island. My mother complained that this was not the halfway mark and that it was easier for them than it was for us coming from Queens. Nothing is ever perfect, but it worked.
The watermelon was part of our yearly ritual of same foods, same place and family which we did each year in order to see family in a type of middle ground.
The mother of all fruits was placed gently in the baby carrier like a tender child, to protect the interior melon always with a towel wrapped around it to keep the cool inside, so as to not get damaged. It was similar to moving a piece of furniture but you get to eat it in the end!
This was likened to a precious gift that would give pleasure to those who respected it. The glistening drops of water from the iced cooler where it had just emerged, left a trail on the way to the old wooden benches which my mother would decorate to feel like home.
She would pull out from her magic picnic basket a red and white checkered paper cloth first which she had purchased in Woolworths summer section. My mother had the ability to take things out of this bag like Mary Poppins! She could have dinner for 12 with all the place settings in her picnic bag and they would spontaneously appear.
She always brought so much food that seemed to go on all day. She never forgot the mustard ketchup, rolls, plates hot dogs and hamburgers everything was always there and available throughout the long day.
Another great hit was my mother’s homemade potato salad which she brought in the same clear plastic bowl every year that she kept on a shelf at home with all the other “picnic” items.
Then at the end of the BBQ meal came the precious centerpiece of the picnic … the star of the show and anticipation of taste, the cold delicious watermelon which would always be large enough to feed the whole family.
It was then sliced very precisely and carefully with a special large knife specifically used for this purpose once a year … expertly done by my dad who always knew the exact position and angles which would give the most slices to the group in the most attractive display. He took on this job every year and no one challenged him for it. It was a traditional assumption that Roger would be in charge of the watermelon distribution and cutting!
He would always taste the first slice and give his nod of approval as to the sweetness on the inside which was hidden by the protective “mother” covering of thick skin.
I remember taking that first bite of cold watermelon sitting on the peeling wooden bench under that shade tree. The feeling of nothing better than this went throughout my body and mind.
It was a symbol of summer, freedom from schedules, and a closeness to family that was traditional and which we looked forward to every year.
“Never eat the rind” yelled my mother every time a slice was passed out to someone, “or you can get sick.” Along with the slice of watermelon there was always a slice of pessimism with my mother! This was her mantra before she handed it out to each person in the family, similar to don’t go in the water until one hour after eating!
Such simple and warm memories of a lifetime ago when families were together enjoying the beauty of connection on a warm summer day in a picturesque park on the south shore of Long Island.
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