The Drive-In

The summer of 1974 I turned six years old, and at that point remained, blissfully, an only child. But within my mother grew my soon-to-be baby brother. This would be my last summer of blissful delight.

My mother worked second shift at the local hospital as a medical transcriptionist. Our mornings started slow, but our special time of day together was lunchtime. Most often those lunches were spent at home, sharing bowls of Campbell's Chicken and Stars soup, or grilled cheese sandwiches made with Kraft American cheese on square slices of Wonder white bread, and grape Cool-aid to drink in plastic Tupperware cups.

Once a week we would get groceries and have lunch out. In 1974 there were mostly local diners and greasy spoons in our town. We had one fast food chain restaurant, Burger King, located downtown next to the movie theatre. I loved to sit on the orange, vinyl topped, chrome swivel stool at the window counter eating my Whopper Junior, and crispy, heavily salted french fries, watching the people come and go from the theatre.

But my favorite place to eat lunch was the Dog n Suds drive in. The concept of a drive in restaurant fascinated me. You couldn't go inside - Car Hops Only, you ate in your car. The menu was on a stand next to your car, you pressed a button and spoke into a silver metal speaker to place your order.

I would sit in excited anticipation in the passenger bucket seat of my mom's metallic blue, 1973 Ford Mustang, while we decided what to have for lunch. Shortly after placing our order, the car hop would come out bearing a red rubberized tray laden with Charco Cheeseburgers and "World Famous" Coney dogs, heavily salted french fries, and frosty mugs filled with Dog N Suds root beer, and hook the tray onto my mom's partially rolled down car window. I would carefully unfold two large paper napkins and spread them over my lap, praying no ketchup or mustard from my cheeseburger would spill onto my perfectly matched Garanimals outfit.

Our town no longer has a Dog n Suds drive in, and hasn't in many, many years. A few of them still exist. On a recent adventure day I happened to be near one, and thought it would be fun, for old times sake, to drive in and have lunch. Unfortunately my adventure day was on a Tuesday.

At first I was extremely disappointed, but as I stood in the empty parking lot, I realized what I wanted wasn't the food, but the opportunity to photograph a piece of my history and to tell the story.

I never liked root beer anyway, except with ice cream in it.

The Farmers Market

When I was in later elementary school my dad took up a new hobby - beekeeping. He was already skilled in the art of woodworking and woodcarving, those hobbies helped to pass the winter months, but at heart my dad is an outside man. Beekeeping gave him that outdoor hobby to occupy him spring, summer and fall. My parents live on twenty-three acres of country delight, so there was plenty of room for a handful of bee hives.

It took a couple of years to get honey output up so that it supplied more than just our family of four. By the time production was up to full speed, I was in middle school and more than old enough to help. I spent many late summer afternoons in the basement with my dad; we would take turns hand cranking the honey extractor. While I was turning I would watch the honey spin out of the hive frames hitting the cylindrical metal sides of the extractor and slide down towards the exit spout, where it waited to be released into new, white five gallon pails. We would bottle and distribute from the bounty in the five gallon pails.

Once we had the supply, we had to figure out a way to create demand. This was the late 1970's and early 1980's, the eat healthy and organic lifestyle had not emerged yet. But there was a new venture in our downtown on Saturday mornings - The Farmers Market - a place for small local farms to sell the excess from their crops without having to man a roadside stand ten hours a day.

I remember getting up at five a.m. so we could be in line at the market by six. In those days, spaces were rented on a first come, first serve basis.

I always felt a bit like the Beverly Hillbillies as my dad and I pulled into our space in his fire-engine red Chevy truck, and set up our sunshine yellow, polka-dot pool umbrellas for shade. I would then set out the Christmas red and bottle-green boat cushions as our seats on the tailgate. But then we unloaded my dad's masterpiece - a handcrafted barn board table with the words Honey For Sale engraved into the front apron. The pints, quarts and gallon jugs of our honey, the sun lighting up the liquid gold inside, looked amazing on that table.

Most Saturdays we made enough profit to stop and get a Big Mac, fries and a coke on the the way home. But making money was never really the point of it, I got to spend priceless Saturday mornings with my dad; sitting on our boat cushions, eating store bought cookies, and drinking lemonade out of a big silver thermos. Those are some of my happiest memories from childhood and I would never trade a moment of them.

I still go to the Farmers Market every week, but as a customer instead of as a vendor. The Farmers Market is the trendy thing to do now, everybody wants fresh fruit, vegetables and unprocessed, raw honey.

Now I wander the aisles with my daughter, shopping for plants, picking out fresh strawberries, selecting fresh flowers for the dining room table. We stop every week at our favorite coffee booth for 16 oz. cups of the flavor of the week. We chat with the guy behind the coffee pots, sharing bits of our morning thus far.

My dad, at 81, still keeps his bees. He doesn't need to go to the Farmers Market anymore, those early days lead to many repeat and loyal customers. Now he has more demand than supply. But if he did decide to go back to the market, he would still have a very willing helper.

9 Mile Journey

Last summer I got the wild idea that I wanted to walk a nine mile stretch of scenic lakeshore road, segment by segment, between my parents' house (my childhood home) and the cemetery where my grandparents and favorite great-aunt are buried. In July it was too hot to start, so I thought I would wait until fall. Fall came along with cooler weather, but I was also doing a lot of traveling, so the nine mile walk never began.

Maybe it's the spot that I am at in my life that has me yearning to revisit childhood places. My child raising days are behind me, my parents are aging but still healthy, and I am well settled into our thirty year marriage. Or maybe it's the natural progression in the four year, self-discovery journey that I have been on.

Some ideas seem good but then quickly fade if not acted upon immediately, but the need to do this walk has only grown stronger. So now, almost a year later, I am beginning. I still plan on doing it in segments, parking my car, walking a mile or two, and then walking back to my car. In the end I will have doubled my nine mile walk.

So much of my history is located along this road, favorite parks, including the one where I love to do self-portrait photography. There is the former house of friends of my parents, many Sunday mornings after church we would go there for coffee or tea in delicate china cups, and nibble on sugar cookies. This house had unique nooks and crannies, being built by the owner, that I loved to explore while the adults chatted in the kitchen. I think this is where my love of buildings began.

I have ridden along this stretch of road hundreds of times, but I have never walked more than this bridge section. There is something about walking that forces you to slow down and truly see what is around you. I am excited to see what memories this nine mile journey uncovers. I am hopeful to complete it by October. If I get it done sooner, maybe I can find another memory lane to travel down.

I Remember...

This week in my writing class one of our writing prompts is I Remember... This is intended to be a free writing prompt, meaning write down anything and everything you remember from any point in your life. At first I glossed over this prompt and moved on to the second one, Write About the Family Dinner Table. But when that prompt wasn't going anywhere I went back to I Remember... I thought the prompt would be too vague for me to focus, but once I started thinking about it I realized I could come up with a lot of things. To help narrow down my focus I picked a topic to remember about. Since it is cold and flu season, I chose to write down things I remembered about being sick as a kid.

I remember my dad making me hot lemon water laced with a little whiskey when I had a bad head cold. I don't remember my dad being a drinker, an occasional tall can of Schlitz beer on a warm summer afternoon was the extent of his drinking. Maybe he kept the bottle of whiskey just for my colds, I don't remember him ever making this concoction for my younger brother when he was sick.

I don't remember throwing up often as a child, but when I did have the flu, my mother would place the Farberware stainless steel 6 quart stock pot along side my bed for those just-in-case moments. The funny thing is, that was the same stock pot she made soups and stews in, the even funnier thing is that I repeated the same pattern with my daughter.

I remember my chest being smeared with Vicks Mentholatum, I hated the warm, burning sensation it created.

I remember being dressed in my flannel granny nightgown, my arms wrapped tightly around my loved-to-death brown teddy bear.

I remember how I loved the citrusy orange flavor of Bayer Children's Aspirin. I would sneak into the bathroom medicine chest to find the bottle, I figured out quickly how to align the arrows and pop the top off. I enjoyed one or two of those orange treats even when I wasn't sick.

I remember my mother coating my nose and lips with Vaseline. She would smear it on so thick that it would clog both my nostrils, no wonder my lips were so chapped, my mouth was the only orifice left to breath through.

Favorite Childhood Foods

While dining on an appetizer of crispy, golden tater tots paired with glasses of spiced cider and handcrafted amber ales, I made the announcement "Tonight when we get home we are going to tackle the writing prompt that has been on the dining room chalkboard for the last two weeks". Moans and protests followed, but they knew I was serious.

For the past few winters we have been doing semi-nightly ten minute writing prompts. We would usually begin at Thanksgiving when our daughter, Mallory would be home from college. My husband and I would carry on once she was back at school until we could be reunited for Christmas break. This year that writing routine has been absent. The main reason is that there are no more college breaks, there is only working, eating and sleeping.

Determined to get our writing group going again, I dug through prompt writing books, and notebooks filled with ideas. I made a list of possibilities, closed my eyes and picked one. I wrote it on the chalkboard so they would know I wasn't kidding. Then life got in the way for a couple of weeks. I had two writing deadlines, one taking longer than I anticipated. Finally at the end of January everything was submitted, I was ready for my group. That readiness led to my announcement while enjoying tater tots at the local brew pub.

Our tasty snack consumed, it was time to go home and face the chalkboard. Once home, I sent everyone off to gather their notebooks and writing utensils, we reconvened in the dining room to take one last look at the prompt before beginning. I set the timer on my phone for ten minutes, pressed start and the sound of pen and pencil on paper began.

Glen and Mallory made long lists of memorable foods. Glen's consisted mainly of meat; tacos, ham and gravy, a ground beef mixture with a sweet/sour flavoring set upon half of a rusk bun, cow tongue, smoky links and fondue. Mallory's list contained typical childhood delicacies; chicken nuggets from Wendy's, hot dogs, grilled cheese, kid size chocolate syrup sundaes, chocolate shakes from Burger King, Cinnamon and Brown Sugar Poptarts and lots and lots of chocolate milk. Maybe this explains her lactose intolerance now, she overdosed on dairy as a child.

My story was different, it wasn't a list of favorite foods, it was about one specific meal - Creamed Ham, Eggs and Mushrooms in a Chafing Dish. My mother has never been a skilled chef in the kitchen. Our suppers usually consisted of Hamburger Helper, not quite baked frozen pizza, and liver and onions. This is why Creamed Ham, Eggs and Mushrooms in a Chafing Dish was so different; the fancy copper chafing dish, real ham, real mushrooms, cream of mushroom soup not just ladled into a bowl, and hard boiled eggs. We didn't have it often, but I do remember my mouth watering every time I saw Volume Six of The Women's Day Encyclopedia of Cookery sitting on the counter...

The buzz of the timer sounded. Our little family gathered together, each taking a turn to read our writing out loud. As each of us read, I marveled at how there were so many stories within simple lists, and specific meals, all derived from a ten minute writing prompt. Our first writing exercise of the year was complete.

What special foods do you remember from your childhood? I would love to hear. 

Ludington - A Childhood Destination

Last week I took a day trip to a favorite family destination from my childhood - Ludington, MI. My dad, mom, grandmother, and I use to drive up there every summer. My dad behind the wheel of my grandma's mint green, big as a boat, Chevy Impala. We would have packed a picnic for the day, filling it with homemade goodness or stopped for the fast food alternative, Kentucky Fried Chicken. Fast food was still a novelty back in the early 1970's so a picnic in the park with KFC was a real treat. The destination for our picnic was always the city park.

Very little has changed at this park since my childhood days, which I must confess brings me great comfort. The playground still has almost all the same equipment as when I was a kid.

Although the skate park is new within the last decade.

I arrived at the park about quarter to nine, so a little early for a picnic lunch. My first destination was the lighthouse whose pier is located right off the beach at the park.

I haven't walked out to the lighthouse since our daughter was a toddler, and she is twenty-one now, the walk was long overdue. The walk out there was a little windy and chilly, but worth it for the blue sky, the deep blue water and the stunning white lighthouse.

After the park, I drove to the downtown area to begin my walk down memory lane. I am still loving the "walking to discover" concept. I see so many more things than I would if I was driving around.

Many of the streets that I explored I had never been down before, but by taking the time to walk and explore, I found a treasure trove of photographic delights.

If I can find one empty, abandoned looking building per adventure, the whole trip was more than worth while, even if I don't get any other good shots for the day. I found this abandoned gas station a couple streets south of the main street. I never knew it was here...but now I do.

Around the back of the gas station was this grundy overhead service door. Chippy paint love!

This was the door to the left of the big overhead door in the photo above, more wonderful chippy paint and some worn, rusty lettering, double love!

I am still taking the self-portraiture class, so anywhere I find an opportunity to include myself in the frame, all the better. This window was on the back side of the gas station, lovely, unbroken glass panes in a rusty metal grid work frame.

I finally had to tear myself away from all that chippy paint and decay. I continued on with my walk.

Vintage sign love! This town is full of them.

This use to be the most adorable shop filled with cheap souvenirs, I use to get something every summer. A white leather, beaded drawstring purse with the words Ludington in shiny gold lettering stamped on it. A wooden tomahawk with a leather sheath. One year an Indian Chief's huge, feathery headdress. The quality of cheap souvenirs was so much better back in that era, before the introduction of plastic.

This Barber Shop was down some basement steps right on the main street. I never even knew it was there.

The sign for the Stearns Motor Inn is exactly the same as when I was a kid. This sign always greeted us coming into town and it was the last thing I saw leaving town. The Tiki Lounge intrigued me, it made me think of Hawaii Five O, a television series that was on in the 1970's and always came on after I was suppose to be in bed, but a trip to the bathroom could get me a few minutes of viewing. I would stand in the doorway of the bathroom and I had a perfect view of the television, this lasted until a commercial and my parents would catch me watching.

By this time, the sun was getting high in the sky, making photo taking a challenge, so I sought out a deli where I could get a sandwich or a wrap to take back to the city park with me for a picnic.

It wasn't quite the same as my childhood picnics.

On the way out of town I stopped to get a photo of this sign.

Of course, I had to follow the arrow and see if the motel was as cute as the sign.

If I had been braver, I would have walked up to the manager's office and asked if I could take some photos of the charming outside, but I think my brave had been all used up for the day. Maybe next time I will still have some brave left in me.

Curiosity About Candy

It is amazing what floodgates of memory can be opened with just one little find at the beach.

I found this little piece of abandoned candy on the stairs to the top of the dune when I was at the beach last week working on a class photography project.

It might be a little hard from this photograph to tell what kind of candy this is. It is one lonely little Smartie.

I haven't had Smarties in years, but when I was a kid I remember riding in my Grandma's big green Chevy Impala with the white vinyl top and going to the service station where I always got a roll of Smarties. Back in those days there were still full service gas stations. Which means to you younger ones my grandma would pull up to the pump and an attendant from the service station came out to her car asked if she wanted it filled up, and then proceeded to fill her car with gas for her.

I remember folding down her half of the large bench-style front seat and climbing into the back, then off we would go to the Texaco station next to the library where the attendant would fill her up. After my grandma paid for the gas, the attendant always gave me a roll of Smarties that I would safely tuck away in my little white wicker purse to be enjoyed after perusing the children's books at the library. My favorite series was by Marguerite Henry about the horses of Chincoteague. I would sit in the wooden children's carousel with my books and open my little white purse, take out my Smarties, carefully open the wrapper and place them one by one along the ledge at the bottom of the angled desk surface. Slowly sucking and savoring each flavor, never crunching or chewing since that made too much noise for the library. My favorite flavor was and still is grape.

Finding that little Smartie on the steps at the beach brought back all those memories. It also made me curious about Smarties. So I did a little research.

In the United States, Smarties are a type of tablet candy produced by the Smarties Candy Company, formerly known as Ce De Candy Inc. They have been in production since 1949. Smarties are produced in Union, New Jersey and Newmarket, Ontario.

After World II, the Dee family bought gunpowder pellet machines and repurposed them to make candy. This gave the candy its resemblance to tablet-style pills in shape and texture. 

Ingredients in Smarties candies are dextrose, citric acid, calcium stearate, artificial flavors and color. There are 25 calories and six grams of sugar in a roll of Smarties. Smarties are gluten free and vegan. 

The flavor of each color is as follows; white is orange cream, yellow is pineapple, pink is cherry, green is strawberry, purple is grape, and orange is orange. 

It is a good thing that a roll of these little darlings is only 25 calories since I bought a big bag of them for this photo shoot.

What about you? Do you have memories of going places with your grandma in her car? Or memories of a favorite childhood candy? I would love to hear your stories.

*Smarties information source: Wikipedia

Joining Kim for Friday Finds

The Wider View

Admittedly I am a photographer who loves the close-up shot. Little details call to me. I could probably shoot exclusively with my 60mm macro lens and be completely happy.

But...and there always is a but, this fall I am learning the importance of the wider view. In landscape shots you want a wider view, but I am not a landscape girl...or am I? On our vacation up north earlier this fall I fell even more in love with the rural landscape and especially old wooden barns. It was a great vacation in so many ways but one of the best things that happened is that I finally found an artistic style.

It all started with this photo. Let me say this artistic style applies mainly to my iPhone photography. When I use my Canon dslr I still prefer macro shots.

That is until I started Ali Edward's new class Lens of Joy. Ali is a big proponent of the wider view, including more in the photo to help tell the story. And yes the wider view does tell more of the story.

I think I got away from the wider view when our daughter was little. I got so tired of all the clutter in the photos. Clutter on counters, clutter on the floor. I just wanted cute close cropped in photos of my precious daughter's face. But after recently looking through some photographs from my own childhood, I appreciate those extra things in the photos, they add to the story. There was the Christmas wrapping paper from 1969. There was the red and white metal child size table set that I wish I still had. There was my favorite teddy bear lying discarded at the edge of the frame in favor of shiny new presents.

Christmas with my presents around me says more than a posed shot of me in front of the Christmas tree. That clutter from my childhood evokes memories, good memories. Things that I reminisce about now when I see them at an antique store.

Mallory will probably look back at photos of her and have those same feelings; favorite but forgotten toys, things that evoke happy childhood memories.

It seems I have two sides to my photography. There are the artistic creations that I make with my iPhone and all those lovely apps. Then there are the photos that I take to support the stories I write. I am realizing that those story telling photos need to have a wider view of the world.

I also have a strong desire to work on self-portraiture and those definitely need the wider view. They need to show context, to show place and to have space. I don't want close-ups of my face, so space is vital.

One place I am good at getting the wider view is the beach. Maybe that is because I have such a connection to the water and the shoreline. And so many design elements present themselves here: Line, Shape and Form, Texture, Simplicity, Perspective. All things a photographer looks for.

I took time Tuesday morning, before the rainstorm, to go to the beach. Our homework for Lens of Joy this week was to pick 3-5 design principles and practice them.

Along with practicing those design principles my goal was to focus on the wider view, and see how capturing the wider view influenced the story of place.

I enjoyed the photographic process so much that morning that I can see me doing a year long study/project on photographing at the beach. Maybe that will be my goal for 2015. A whole year of weekly shooting beside the water.

I live a mile from Lake Michigan so that shouldn't be a problem. The problem will be winter. But maybe this project will be the motivation I need to get out and shoot every week in spite of the weather.

The question is, where to document this project. Maybe this is finally the right project for a Squarespace blog. It would be great to see my progress in both photography and writing on a specific topic all in one place. Hmmm...I really like this idea.

This is certainly not where I expected this story to go when I started writing it, but this is what writing does, it helps me come up with new creative ideas. Things that will require action and now that it is written down I am much more likely to take action and create this project. So stay tuned for the unveiling of my new project in January.