One of my July mornings began at a brisk 57 degrees. By the time the day ended it registered 97 on the thermometer. Another road trip, this time southernly in summer. Although mesmerized for hours by the straight, dotted line running down Interstate 15, through the desert, I didn’t break a sweat. My car’s climate-control computer dusted me with a cooling breeze as I gazed out at thorny cacti, hand-painted signs for haphazard, tourist attractions, and the place that made me slow down and turn around—a classic root beer stand.
Did the memories come steamrolling my way? You bet! My mind’s eye conjured the image of a frosty mug, crowned with creamy white foam, condensation slipping down the inch-thick glass. That first sip—so sweet, so bubbly, and such a rare treat. Thirst slaked and eager to get a jumpstart on vacation, Dad would steer our old, green chevy with voluptuous curves back onto the road. His elbow rested on the open window, while we kids were blasted by hot wind, hair wiping across our cheeks, sunlight highlighting the golden hairs on our skinny, bronzed arms.
Most often, we were on our way to visit our grandparents in Wisconsin. Up north, we would beat the heat with dips in Star Lake and rides in the back of Grandpa’s pick-up to the grocery store where we were treated to popsicles. Our favorite flavors: banana, cherry, and blue raspberry. On the way home, the sun melted our goodies faster than we could slurp them. The wind caught the popsicle droplets, polka-dotting our skin with blue, red, and yellow sweetness.
Some summers, we couldn’t afford vacation. Blistering Indiana nights were endured by dragging mattresses onto the front porch. We’d toss and turn watching the blink of the fireflies and listening to the crickets fiddling. If we were lucky enough to fall asleep, we’d wake with sweaty brows and flip our pillows welcoming the cool undersides. Heat lightning sometimes streaked the sky, and if thunder eventually growled and the first raindrops plopped onto the porch railing, a collective sigh was released.
The Indiana sun could be relentless as early as six a.m. My sister and I, in our cotton baby-doll pjs and our brothers in their skivvies, would sit on the stoop with half-moons of watermelon held by sticky hands. With each bite, cold juice dripped down our chins, necks, and chests—a welcome nuisance. Around high noon, we sprayed each other with water from the hose and even indulged in a few long drinks. Sometimes we splashed along with the family dog in a dime store, wading pool. The cracking sound of the aluminum ice-cube tray being opened and cubes plopping across the counter, meant sweet Kool-Aid.
And so, on that blistering day in July, I parked and got out at the root beer stand, when upon closer inspection, I realized it was closed—and appeared to have been for quite a while. I climbed back into my air-conditioned capsule, disappointed until gratitude took over.
It seems my memories are far from boarded up.
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Wonderful as always! I had forgotten blue raspberry popsicles; my favorites – orange and cherry. Thanks for the smiles and memories triggered by your writing.
Well, I was on my way to visit you and So Cal when all this came flooding into my brain. Glad you found joy in it. Blue raspberry was my fave that’s how I remembered.
My first “real” job (not counting babysitting) was as a carhop at an A&W Root Beer stand. I remember carrying those frosty mugs on a tray and hooking them to car windows very well. I had special customers I watched for, my favorite being the guy who only ordered one mug of root beer but left a dollar tip every time. I’d spy his car driving in and pray he would park in my section of the lot. And sometimes he did!
Thanks for sharing that, Bonnie. Was the A&W in Illinois, Indiana or Wisconsin? Maybe you served us at our old green Chevy. That car alone is worthy of a story.
Beautifully written. What great memories!
Yes, indeed. And now I’ve been thinking about root beer floats! Thanks for supporting me, Marci!
Much of the same childhood experience in Nortgern California where I grew up. Memories percolated to the surface as I read your always inspiring blog entries. The root beer stand especially is a fav place in my mind’s eye and firmly established as a childhood landmark. Heidi, thank you for taking me back! 🤗
My pleasure, Ellen. There is something special about a rootbeer stand.