ice cream, ice cream, we all scream for Home Made Ice Cream

In the south there is a summer tradition I fear is dying. It is an activity that begins in mid June, peaks on July 4^th, and maintains the peak until the beginning of school in September. It is an activity that involves combining milk, eggs, sugar, salt, flavorings, ice, and a little hard work. It yields something akin to the nectar of the gods.

I speak, of course, of home made ice cream.

My brother and I looked forward to that first batch of ice cream from the last day of school until that day in mid to late June. Then came the day, usually a Sunday afternoon, when Mom and Dad would throw us in the backend of our old black pickup. Dad would drive to the ice house and buy 25 to 50 pounds of crushed ice. We would then go back home, and while Mom washed the churn and the paddles, Dad would combine the milk, eggs and sugar, and then add just a touch of vanilla flavoring. He would then give it a taste, just to make sure it was just right.

Once Dad was satisfied, he poured it into the churn, put the lid on, and we all headed to the back yard to start cranking. After placing the churn in the wooden bucket and affixing the handle, my brother and I, under Dad's watchful eye, would start adding layers of ice, alternated with layers of rock salt. When bucket was full, my little brother would start cranking, again with Dad watching, cautioning him not to get into much of hurry. "Don't crank so fast. You'll just get tired, and it won't freeze any faster." We tried to follow his advice, but we would forget, start turning the crank faster and faster, until our arms would give out, and he would have to take over. As Dad cranked, my brother and I would add ice and salt. After a while Dad would let one of us take over again.

As we cranked and cranked, the mixture in the churn would gradually thicken, and it would get harder and harder to turn the handle. Finally, it would reach the point where even Dad couldn't get even one more turn. But it still wasn't ice cream.

Ice cream has to "cure." We would apply on last layer of ice and salt, then Dad would put a burlap bag over the top of the bucket, and we would then do the hardest job of the day. We would wait.

Mom and Dad would sit in their lawn chairs, while my brother and I would play catch. When we tired of that, if it was late enough in the evening we would count (and sometimes catch) lightening bugs. But we were always waiting, watching out of the corner of our eyes. Soon the time came, and Dad would get out of his chair and go pick up the ice cream maker and take it in the house, where he would sit it in the kitchen sink.

Mom already had the bowls and spoons on the table. Dad would remove the crank, and scrap the ice away from the churn. He would then remove the lid, and begin to scoop this marvelous concoction, that only a short time ago had been a thin mixture of milk, eggs, sugar, and vanilla flavoring, was now a thick, rich, cold treat that was worthy of Caesar himself.

We would sit around the table, eating seconds and thirds, and if Mom would let us, sometimes fourths. And of course my brother and I would always get the dreaded "ice cream headache" at least once during the evening.

There was nothing as quite as good.

But early on, I said home made ice cream is an art. I have never eaten two batches of home made ice cream that tasted quite the same. Every family has their own recipe, and like the recipe for moonshine, it is carefully guarded by its owner. Oh the base is essentially the same, although some folks use half and half, and some strictly use cream.

Some cook their mixture before placing it in the churn, while others feel cooking affects the flavor in a negative way. Some folks will had a little hone with their sugar. And sometimes, you just had to use imitation vanilla flavoring because that's all you had.

I went to many family reunions and church functions where hand cranked ice cream was served, and I can honestly say none tasted like Dad's. The various ice creams didn't taste better, they didn't taste worse; they just tasted different.

At Fourth of July get-togethers, every family brought their ice cream churn, with their family recipes already mixed. All we had to do was add the ice and the salt, and start cranking. By the time I was twelve, Dad trusted me to crank at the proper speed, while my brother and one of my cousins added the ice and salt.

There were usually three churns going. One was filled with vanilla; one was filled with strawberry, while the third was filled with banana. There was ice cream enough to guarantee a month's worth of tummy aches and ice cream headaches. But even more importantly, it provided a chance for the family to gather, and to share. To share food, to share stories, to share love, and above all, to make enough memories to last a lifetime, memories which can warm you on a cold winter's night or cool you on a hot, sultry summer's eve.

Do me a favor. If you have an ice cream churn, prefreably a hand cranked one, get it out. Mix up a batch of milk, eggs, sugar, and vanilla flavoring. Add your favorite fruit, if you wish. Pour it in the churn, place the churn in the bucket, and pack crushed ice and salt around it. Start cranking and crank until it won't turn any more. You will be making much more than the best ice cream you ever tasted. You will be making wonderful memories that will stay with you and your loved ones for as long as you live.