1959 |
The ghosts are talking to me today. Back in the day – late ‘50s, early ‘60s – family and friends would gather here at the farm on the last Sunday in July (or the first Sunday in August) to celebrate Grandpa Charlie Portfors’ birthday. (We called him Papa.)
1961 |
Mother, Daddy, and I would come to the farmhouse a week or two early to clean. It wasn’t easy without electricity and access to running water, but Mother seemed cheerful enough. We dusted, swept, mopped, washed windows, and wiped windowsills. Mother took the curtains down, washed them in town, and brought them back later to re-hang. I do remember her saying, “If only we could use a vacuum cleaner, it would go so much faster.” So, eventually we bought a generator.
Mother and Papa, 1963 |
As I think about it, I’m sure that we were also preparing the house for harvest, which usually started here in mid-August.
Papa and great-grandchildren, 1964 |
The actual party was billed as a picnic. We set it up in the shade of the north side of the house – the kitchen porch and yard. We had fried chicken, garden vegetables, Psyche’s fruit salad, potato salad, and perhaps baked beans. We had rolls and potato chips. The beverages were lemonade and iced tea – no pop, no water in bottles. No effort was made to coordinate the food. It was a potluck.
Mother usually baked the birthday cake. Daddy made ice cream, which was a special treat.
Today, as I look out the kitchen window, I can almost see a party. Almost. KW