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Recalling the Best of Times

In my childhood home there is a framed photograph of my youngest brother Jamie when he was just a little guy. In the photo he is eating a large slice of watermelon while sitting on the porch steps.

He’s dressed in summer attire that looks like he might have just finished working on a broken down bicycle with neighbor kid Andy Hogan. They had a habit of taking things apart and putting them back together in someone’s garage.

His not-so-clean outfit includes some footwear that looks a few sizes too big for him. That, however, is not unusual in a house where hand-me-downs were popular and he was at the end of the sibling line. Not any of that appears to have deterred him from devouring that juice-dripping hunk of summer fruit.

Every Fourth of July that photograph comes to mind, reminding me of many fun holidays spent around an oversized wooden picnic table in the backyard. There, our Dad would man the grill and send smoke pouring into the house and neighbors’ yards. Grilling was his forte and no one else would even think of getting near that charcoal burner. The grill was nothing fancy, the old kettle type that had a lid that slid closed over the crowded rack of hot dogs and hamburgers he fashioned himself out of ground beef and some additives of ketchup and mustard. They were delicious.

There was nothing fancy about the well-worn grill. Just charcoal, lighter fluid and matches made it work. Then one year, our mother got him a new grill, probably with Green Stamps or Raleigh cigarette coupons, that included a motorized spit to hold several chickens or other meats to cook slowly under the hood of the grill.

He was in his glory. He concocted recipes for glazes and sauces to baste an occasional duck or other meat as he tended the grill for hours. Not even rain would keep him from his post. He would just move the grill into the freestanding garage, crack open a cold Strohs and sit amid the ladders and other junk as he watched the spit turn.

Picnics in the backyard were quite the social event with friends and neighbors stopping by. There were baseball and kickball games. Toddlers played in plastic swimming pools. The dogs hung around the grill just in case a burger or hot dog fell into the coals and eventually got tossed their way.

It wouldn’t be the Fourth of July until our Dad lit his tiny gunpowder-filled cannon and shot it off in the backyard. The dogs didn’t like it, but we did. Then it was on to his magic show with the disappearing cigarette trick as the finale.

At dusk we lit sparklers and made smores over the now barely glowing coals at the grill. Times were simpler then. We truly were unplugged other than the transistor radio bringing us the Pirates game.

Life was simpler. Food tasted better. Conversations were sweeter. Try it in your own backyard. I’ll bring the sparklers.

Have a safe and happy Fourth.

Heather Ziegler can be reached via email at hziegler@theintelligencer.net.

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