One summer, many years ago, I went to spend part of the summer with my Grandma and Grandpa, my Dad's parents. We didn't get to see them often as they lived in New York and we lived in Alabama. They would occassionally come for Christmas, but rarely for an extended visit. Recently, whle reading a hub on Farmer's Markets, I flashed back to that summer and the fun I had. I was inspired to write down those memories before they are forgotten completely. While some of my memories may be enhanced somewhat by the years, I still believe they are valid.

I was excited to learn of my upcoming trip, not only was I going away to another state, but I was going to fly in a plane by myself. I was going to go spend part of the summer with my grandparents. I had never been to New York and had visions of tall bulidings and lights all over like they showed on TV. The reality was a small rural town at the foot of the Catskills. No tall bulidings, but boy was it beautiful.

First, I had to get on the plane. I was about 12 and had never flown. My Mom asked to walk with me to the plane, but the request was refused. So I had to board the plane alone. Once I got on the plane the stewardesses were great. I was entertained by a couple of small children traveling with their mother. I stopped in Atlanta and had to change planes. Atlanta had a head tax on those disembarking at the airport and it was $10.00. Fortuanately, I had a little cash with me. I don't know what they would have done if I hadn't. Then on the Philadelphia where my Grandpa was working in the school systems. I met him at the airport and we began touring the City of Brotherly Love. The cobblestone streets were hard to walk on, but the history of the city was worth it. I got to see the Liberty Bell up close. This was the first time I had really seen a part of history. Something we read about in school was real. The Declaration of Independence was on display. The buildings were short and the streets narrow. I had fun. It was a wonderful city to visit. I still hope to one day go back.

Then it was a drive to New Platz and Grandma. The rest of the summer would be spent at their house in New Platz. Grandma worked for the school system there, so I would be in a lot of activites to fill my days. I took swimming with a bunch of the local kids. While I could swim, I had never had formal lessons. So it took awhile for me to learn the different strokes. Back home, we just clowned around in the pool. I didn't know anyone who had actually studied swimming. I learned a lot that summer. I still remember how to properly save a drowing victum without getting yourself killed inthe process.

The town was what I found the most fascinating. Grocery shopping was done daily by Grandma. She bought fresh items daily. We would stop after work at the meat market, vegetable store and bakery.

The meat market was just like on TV. You would walk in and order what you wanted from the display cases or hanging from the ceiling and get it cut. Nothing was already wrapped up in plastic, like at home. The meat was wrapped in white butcher paper. Before, New Paltz I thought white butcher paper was used for drawing in art. The meat seemed to taste better that summer.

Then we walked to the vegetable store. I had never seen so many different vegetables. There were lots of varieties of apples. They came in more than red. Grandma would walk among the bins and pick the freshest vegetables to go with the meat for the night. I tried foods I had never had before, and I liked them. Because of that experience I am willing to try many different foods. Grandma never forced me to eat or try a food. She would put it on my plate and if I tried it then fine, but if I balked, she never said a word. I think I tried tham all eventually. I tried to use this technique with my children; while I do not like all foods, I am willing to try them if my children are around, because I think they need to make up their own minds. I don't want to have my kids tell me they don't eat a food because I don't like it.

Next up was the bakery. The smells were inviting. Nothing calls my name like yeast breads. I think this even outranks chocolate. We would have to walk past the bakery to get from the meat market to the vegetable store, so I was already anticipating the trip into aroma heaven. Usually, we would buy just bread for supper and the next day's toast and sandwiches, but occassionally, desert would be bought. Watching grandma decide on the type of bread and the right desert to pair with the other offerings for the night was wonderful. The breads were whole and thumping of the outside would be done, the color studied, weight of the loaf examined and then the bread was wrapped and transported home.

New Yorkers who shop like that have long been green when it came to bags. Grandma didn't use plastic or paper. She had a tote bag specifically for daily food shopping. All of her friends we met on the street had the same type of tote bags. Today when I use resualbe bags/totes at the store it reminds me of that summer. I think back to how, sometimes doing as your elders did is smart for the environment. Grandparents of that era were frugal. More like we need to be now.

 After dinner, we would go out back and sit on the porch looking up at the Catskill Mountains.  They were magnificent to view.  The colors were beautiful.  Reds, yellows, blues, purples and golds shone down off the mountain trees.  It was turning colder at night in New Platz and the mountains were reacting.  I so wanted to go up on the mountain, especially after it snowed at the top one night.  A snow capped mountain was unheard of in my part of the country.  We rarely had snow in the winter in Birmingham, Alabama and here it was summer and there was snow.  We could see our breath as we talked outside that night.  How exciting, but Grandma said it was too far to travel to the snow.  I would have to be satisfied with looking at it only.

Grandma surprised me with an outing to a lodge in the Catskills one Saturday.  We just stayed for the day, but it sure was fun.  We hiked with trails, picked huckleberries (blueberries) and mint and followed chipmunks.  The staff at the restaurant made us a snack with our pickings.  It was delicious.  We stayed for supper and watched couples dance to a band playing Big Band tunes.  No rock-n-roll.  Seeing Dirty Dancing reminded me of that lodge, it brought back good memories.  The mountains were everything I expected: fun, exciting and different.  The air smelled fresh, the earth smelled clean.  The berries stained my shirt, but Grandma laughed and said it happened to everyone their first time picking berries.

I am still amazed at mountains.  They are so majestic.  The fact that every level offers something new is fascinating to me.  I don't ski (I was always afraid I would fall off the mountain while flying down it on those long sticks), but I love to play in the snow and tramp around on the trails.  I prefer the mountains to the beach.  Could this be because of my memories of this trip?

 During the week it was just Grandma and me home, but most weekends my Grandpa would drive in from Philadelphia.  Those weekends were spent doing yardwork and the heavy household chores.  I was allowed to cut the grass, and there was a lot of it to cut.  Grandpa kept the grass clippings, but he never would tell me when he used them or for what.  I didn't worry much about it, I was just fascinated with this growing mound of grass.  I remeber seeing a snake on it one day and screaming and running to my Grandma scared to death.  She laughed and said the snake was probably more scared of me and all that noise then I was of it.  The snake was gone when we went to look, but I doubt it was scared of me and my stage worthy screaming.

Visiting with neighbors was done on the weekends.  We would sit out on lawnchairs with iced tea with sprigs of mint in it.  Talk was never deep topics, just daily activites and catching up for the week.  I was able to sit with the adults.  No more children's table for me.  Of course, I was the only chid there, but it didn't dawn on me until years later.  I always thought they were impressed with my ability to act like a grownup.  I am still proud to have been included in the group.

Dinnertime on the weekends were more formal than weeknights and included a cocktail hour.  I had a Shirley Temple and the adults had martinis.  I thought getting a cherry in my drink was very special and it was.  Not everyone my age participated in cocktail hour.  The rule was only one drink before dinner and none after dinner.  We even dressed for dinner.  Nothing fancy, just not what you had worn all day.  At the time, I thought of these dinners as an EVENT. 

Going out to eat was rarely done and fast food wsn't around yet up there.  Grandma cooked for us.  We had good and balanced meals.  Something we as a nation are trying to relearn today.  Again, our Grandparents had it right.

My memories of that summer are fond ones. The time spent with my Grandparents, especially with Grandma was precious. While I realize times and landscape has probably changed, I prefer to remember my Grandparents and New Paltz as they were that summer. A wonderful set of Grandparents who made me feel grownup and a quaint village-type town. Age eventually caught up with my Grandparents and they were no longer the energetic people of my youth.  The memories of your youth are the best in many situations. Sentimental thoughts of a time left behind are to bind us to our past, while moving toward our future. I realize now in my 40's that Grandparents are a gem which are gone too soon. My children are lucky enough to have one set of Grandparents and even a Great Grandmother still around, but many are not.  Take the time to help your little ones develop those memories of family. Family doesn't have to be blood, just someone who loves you.