Now that it’s summer, I’m remembering back to trips we took when I was a child. One of the treats we most enjoyed was a weekend at White Lake–which was just 80 miles from our home. We loved swimming in the clear water and afterwards, games at the arcade and rides–especially the bumper cars and tilt-a-whirl.

Mama would pack a picnic lunch for us to enjoy at the tables near the shoreline. She did the old-fashioned thing of getting up early to fry chicken—a favorite at any meal, that went well with the picnic ham and deviled eggs. My older sister, Harriet remembers that our earliest basket was actually a brown, tan, and orange metal which was later replaced with a styrofoam cooler so we could carry blocks of ice. In the sixties, I don’t think you could purchase croissants in my hometown like those in this picture.

Back then, it was necessary to pack your food because the country wasn’t dotted with fast food restaurants and drive-thrus. Even when those places were available, the food was more expensive and not as tasty as Mama’s. Besides the tables by the lake, on trips to other areas, it was interesting to see where you might find tables along the highway. While Mama was getting the food out, there was just enough time to explore the surrounding area– which could be in a forest or one with a panoramic view of mountains.

Eating outside, with the summer heat and insects, wasn’t a big deal when I was little because our house wasn’t air conditioned. We could tolerate the heat better because we weren’t in-and-out of air conditioned buildings and cars like we are today. While sometimes we had the television on during meals–if Walter Cronkite was broadcasting the evening news–or if it was Saturday night and Daddy was watching wrestling, most of the time it was off. Since cell phones didn’t exist, we had no temptation to pick up our phone because it was in the family room. Meals, whether in our home or on a picnic, were times for the family to slow down, gather, and enjoy the food that was prepared.

Over the years since I’ve been taking my solo journeys, I’ve been struck by the number of abandoned picnic tables I’ve seen. I can envision the families that once sat there together, excited about their day out–or perhaps having their usual family fusses. I can imagine children arguing over who sits where because they’re not in their own homes with their usual places. And it would likely be that the children were wanting to rush the meal–like we did at White Lake, because we were anxious to go swimming–and forget the wait thirty minutes after you’ve eaten, nonsense!

When I was riding my bike on a path by Lake Michigan in July of 2014, I saw a picnic table that looked like it was fossilized to me. It struck me that it had been left behind, an imprint in the past but not of service in the present. Now, that special spot by the lake was mostly overlooked by bikers, runners, and walkers who were busy getting to the next place.

For me, the essence of a picnic is being together, being present and enjoying a meal without the confines of walls, and in the open-air beauty of nature. I may be idealizing this as something from the past that wasn’t as great as I remember it. People can be in an idyllic location, away from their daily responsibilities, enjoying the leisure of time together and still not be present; all kinds of things can preoccupy us.

Last year, I was thinking a lot about how I’d like to go on a picnic with the guy I was dating. I bought a picnic set on a really good sale– because the nice ones have gotten pricey. Long story short, he and I had our final break up about that time; I put the basket away in a closet. Even though it had a place setting for four– and I could have invited a few friends to go on a picnic, I saw that basket as bought for a romantic picnic. I know that may sound like a fanciful, whimsical idea for this sixty-eight year old–but looking up pics for this post–it seems a lot of other people have that idea, too.

Last week, I finally got that basket down from the shelf. I took the plates and silverware out of their packaging and attached them inside the basket. I placed items inside and considered what foods would travel well in the insulated pocket with space for a cold pack.

“Mama’s chicken salad would be good,” I thought, checking for how to fit containers into the pocket. I would never take the time to fry chicken. If I had to have that, I would stop at Bojangles! And since I wouldn’t bake a picnic ham for just me and one other person, I’d get some deli ham and rolls–and a side of their potato salad. No sense in knocking myself out like Mama did.

I will go for a picnic eventually. And when I do, I hope that I will be present in the moment, enjoying time with that person and being outside– away from my usual table. I want to take time to savor the food and know that moments like that don’t last forever.

Best to you,

Connie