Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Summertime and Dandelion Wine


Where I grew up on Rural Route One lawns were things on which we played Simon Says, Red Light Green Light, and Captain May I. Nobody thought twice about dandelions on the lawn. We didn't use the greens for salads or the roots for tea, but they were used to decorate some pretty awesome mud pies if I do say so myself. I lined them up on a board and let them bake in the sun. My grandfather, Moses, paid a whole nickel for one particularly stunning creation. Other days I was paid with a stick or two of Juicy Fruit gum. That was before I found out that dandelions have other, more powerful attributes.

Enter Uncle Allen. Allen was Aunt Gertrude's husband, one of several through the years. I don't recall where he was in the line-up but I liked his quiet demeanor. Plus, he made some potent dandelion wine. How do I know?  Well, my sisters and I were waiting for a ride to the Purple Peanut one Saturday night, our tee-totaling parents were away, and one thing led to another, as these things do.  Next thing I knew, we'd popped the cork on the dandelion wine stored way in the back on the bottom shelf of the kitchen cupboard, glasses had come out and that sweet summer goodness was poured.  Not much.  It didn't take much.

Shortly thereafter, I'm standing at the kitchen window keeping a vigilant eye out for headlights, apparently saying some pretty engaging stuff as I had my sisters in giggles. I did some giggling of my own and then our ride showed up. How I felt was nothing I was familiar with, I just knew things seemed a little odd and I found I could watch myself from a short distance away. Half an hour later and twenty miles down the road we arrived at the Purple Peanut, the dancing commenced and life went on. No prices were paid, none that I recall; maybe my sister, Chris, took the fall.

Later that summer, very early in the morning, Mom came into my bedroom to tell me they were leaving for a few days. They had received word that Uncle Allen had drowned while fly fishing on a river in Idaho. He had slipped on some rocks, his waders filled up, and the river took him away. Aunt Gertrude watched in despair, helpless on the shore. She came to visit us some time after and I remember her sitting in a chair, very quiet, in the dim afternoon light.

In the late 1950's, Ray Bradbury wrote a book of somewhat autobiographical stories called, "Dandelion Wine," sort of a metaphor for the bittersweet joy bottled up in one youthful summer. I've been thinking maybe next year I'll cook up some summer in a bottle and, in the winter, when the wine is ready, I'll pour a glass for myself and one for Uncle Allen. We're all moving down this timeless river, still together, with nothing to fear and no reason to grieve.

So, here's to summer: dandelions and mud pies, rivers and Captain May I, and dancing at the Purple Peanut late into the night, 'til the river takes us 'round the bend, and out of sight.


25 comments:

  1. So powerful, I teared up! The "Purple Peanut" - so much in a name...I can visualize it all...our peanut was a the Boat Landing...

    Bought some Dandelion wine in New Hampshire last year. Good stuff! And here's to Uncle Allen!

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  2. I've never had dandelion wine or read the book must try both; my mom's family ate dandelion greens and hated them, but I understand they are nutritious. I've always wanted to try elderberry wine; boone's farm and annie greensprings were around back in my old days, and my peanut was john's at the beach in Ventura. never thought of the danger of the river from the waders but he was fishing which I bet he loved.

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  3. More praises for dandelions...I must find some of this wine, and the book. Sad about Uncle Allen...never heard of someone drowning by having their boots fill with water. I think it will be a nice tribute to him...dandelion wine. I so enjoy your writing.

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  4. Funny, I just re-read Dandelion Wine a few months ago, and I enjoyed it so much more than I did the first time I read it. I heartily recommend it. And although I have never tasted it, I can imagine it very well!

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  5. Ooh gosh, I've never had any dandelion wine and I guess I'd better try some. So sad about Uncle Allen. Yes, I've heard of that happening, but never to anyone I personally knew. Our Peanut was the Skyhop...

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  6. This is a lovely post.
    I read Dandelion Wine and should read it again to see if it has the same effect on me as it did in my 20's. Maybe I will have a glass of Dandelion Wine while I read it. Should alter my old age or make me giggle more.... either way would be fine.
    Here's to the Purple Peanut and all the forgotten places I danced in wearing black boots and long hair.... and the rivers that take us all "around the bend".

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  7. Hello Teresa:
    What a very engaging story even if it is tinged with a little sadness for the death of Uncle Allen. But the decorated mudpies brought back many happy memories of childhood. What is the fascination of dirt to children?!!

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  8. Kittie: Thank you. Each of us with our own memories of the dance place in our youth. Good times.

    Linda: I thought about that, too, as I was writing, how he left us doing something he loved. Thank you.

    Karena: Thank you. I think the book and the wine must be enjoyed together. Sounds nice, doesn't it?

    DJan, I look forward to a re-read, as well. Life can take us in directions that help us to see things quite differently.

    Lynn (TM): Ah, the Skyhop. It sounds so very George Jetson-y. :)

    farmlady: Thank you, very much. Giggling is good, no matter our age. Yes, a re-read, accompanied by a glass of "summer."

    Jane and Lance, We are all born with the impulse toward creativity and mud is a pretty good medium for very young children. That's my take. Thank you for your kind words.

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  9. Dandelion Wine? Now on my bucket list.

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  10. Ah yes! Fond memories of the way we were Teresa. :-)

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  11. RW: I'm so glad you visited. Yes, we must keep our bucket lists updated....

    Paul: Or, the way we are. :)

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  12. We would have been in heaven to sample such a passionate beverage. My dad made this, but it was kept out of reach.I don't remember him ever drinking it, just serving it at parties he had.Our dance hangout was the Clique.
    steve,OOTP

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  13. Hi Steve, It was a rather convenient way to try something out. Ah, the Clique. That's a name for a teenage hangout. :)

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  14. Interesting! Your childhood was very different from mine. Living in Hawaii, I spent a lot of time at the beach.

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  15. Hi gigi, I suppose it would be quite different. We had lakes with some nice beaches, but certainly not the ocean. It's a different mindset, too, I would imagine, although kids are kids at their core wherever they live.

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  16. At the constant urging of a fried over a period of time, I finally picked up Dandelion Wine last year and promptly immersed myself in Ray Bradbury's book.

    My family did eat dandelion greens. I'm not a fussy eater, but, these greens are not my pick of the garden salad, let me tell you. Too bitter.

    Teresa, what a lovely tribute you pay to Uncle Allen. Such a tragedy.

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  17. Hi Penny, I've tried them recently and I concur, too bitter for me. Thank you for your kind words. As I get along in years I appreciate things, and the people who have moved on, even more.

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  18. Teresa did you ever smoke a banana ?

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  19. Nope, never smoked any fruit. Should I call you Mellow Yellow?

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  20. What a lovely, lovely tribute to summer and Uncle Allen and to the underappreciated beauty of the dandelion.

    I've grown dandelions intentionally in my garden - the young greens are less bitter, though the bitterness doesn't bother me (I'm a greens lover) - and was ticked off as heck when the landlord's hired gardeners took it upon them to "weed" for me.

    I get such a sense of a quintessential childhood from your stories. I think the shock of my suburban/industrial childhood hasn't healed - it feels like I was given something inauthentic and made to believe it was just the way things were supposed to be and what did I have to complain about? I suppose, in the end and non-judgmentally, there are stories to be found in there, but I have a hard time finding them.

    I love to hear yours.

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  21. Howdy Neighbor, I'm sure there are stories in there, there always are. A different mindset, perhaps, but children are children inside with very similar concerns and desires. I'm glad you enjoy my stories. It's always interesting for me to re-explore them.

    I can imagine your less than mild annoyance at losing your dandelions. I hope people will find a way to see them differently. Who's to say what's a weed? So many things are possible food sources.

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  22. I don't ever remember having any dandelion wine but people certainly made it. What I did have on several occasions was dandelion salad and it was not bad at all but had to be done when they were young and tender. Mom never made it but others did.

    Mom didn't make much of the stuff she had to eat as a kid during the Depression but she did cook chicken feet just to let us know what she had to endure. Little did she know that I was going to like them.

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  23. Hi One fly, I don't think I ever ate dandelion greens then, but have tried them since and found them bitter, perhaps not as young as they should have been and I should try again.

    I can't say I've eaten chicken feet, but you never know what Mom might have cooked up back then, unbeknownst to us. Way back when, on a dare, I ate pickled pig's feet from a big jar at a bar (I'm a poet, and I don't know it?)and I have to say I liked them.

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  24. Teresa, dearest, I must have this for Creative Sunday Have you published these things? Let me know and I will put it up Sunday next. The "Apostle Paw", which I wrote, will be up this Sunday. Have you read the poem, "Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle" by John Tobias? There is an anthology by the same name. Your prose/poem is just as good.

    http://www.cise.ufl.edu/~hsiao/verse/watermelon.html

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  25. Cletis, I have not made any attempt at publication of any of these stories. Please feel free to post it on your Creative Sunday. I read the poem you included a link for. I had read it many years ago. Thank you so much for the reminder. It brings up another story. I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your thoughts about my writing, but I do thank you, very much.

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