Tag Archives: summer activities

A Blueberry Patch Was the Site of My First Kiss

29 Apr

The summer of 1969 was famous for many reasons; the July walk on the moon of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin, the Woodstock concert in August. But for me, even though I remember those events vividly, and lived just 1 ½ miles from Yasgur’s farm, for me the summer of 1969 was the summer of my first kiss!

It happened near my grandparent’s bungalow colony in town of Kauneonga Lake. It happened on the path between the two sections of the blueberry patch that covered the ground between the bungalow colony and Cooper Drive.

Why it happened there, I do not know. But I remember it as if it was yesterday. My first kiss was very shy. I was 14, I think he was as well. Perhaps 15, but no more than that. Looking back, I realize that kissing on that path was a very poor choice. I had lots of boy cousins, a brother and friends who could have seen us. But they did not. We kissed in the middle of the path, then went our separate ways back to our respective homes.

To be honest, the kiss did not lead to dating. We were just friends. I have no contact with him, although I remember his name and what he looked like.

We, of course continued to see each other. But it was a one-time event.

There were other boys I dated in the Catskills over the years. But not one was ever serious. Usually they became my friends.

One Catskill friend took me to my high school senior prom. He was a freshman in college, so it was a big deal. Another boy I met while working at Daitch Shopwell was beloved by my grandparents. He and I remained friends for years. We both married others — not people we met at the Catskills.

The boy I loved the most in the Catskills, never really took me seriously. I think it was the age difference. I was 16 and he was 22. I was smitten. I also met him when working at Daitch. He had a great voice and would sing and play the guitar during our breaks. To this day when I hear the song, “You’ve Got a Friend,” I think of him. But to be honest, although I remember what he looked like and the sound of his voice, I cannot remember his name!

Not all Catskill summer romances end. Two of my cousins married the girls they met in the Catskills. Both have been married over 30 years and are grandparents. They and their families still come up to Kauneonga Lake every summer.  And there are many others I know who also married the love of their lives that they met while teens in the Catskills.

Although for me, the Catskills was not the place I met my husband, it was the place I brought I children to visit every summer. A place of great fun and memories.  My children got to spend wonderful times with their many cousins at the lake and in the house where I spent my summers.

As for the walk and kiss in the blueberry patch; it was not unwelcome. I still hold it in my heart. I am sure I picked some blueberries on the way back and ate them.   Although my love for that boy did not last, my love for blueberries has lasted forever.

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An Odd Affinity To Jelllyfish Attacks

23 Mar
I think my son especially does not like jellyfish with tentacles.

I think my son especially does not like jellyfish with tentacles.

When the tentacle wrapped around my son’s leg in Long Island Sound (Connecticut side), people started running. I was not sure what was going on at first. My son, then about three years old, was standing in about 6 inches of water. His hand firmly grasped by a 10-year-old with two 8-year-old children next to them. We were all together, and I was watching closely.

But I did not see what was just under the water. My son started screaming. I ran over and grabbed him, as a man came running towards me. It was scary. What did this man want? He was yelling something at me, but it took a minute to understand that a giant, dead jellyfish has drifted over to the beach and one of its tentacles had wrapped around my son’s thigh.

As the man ran over to me, he was yelling, “We need to get your son to first aid NOW!” I looked down, and there just under the edge of my son’s swimsuit was a giant welt that encircled his thigh. Bright red and raised, the welt was growing before my eys.

By this time my son was holding his breathe. I could see his lips turning blue. He was so scared and in pain. I had him enveloped in my arms, as the man rushed me towards the lifeguard station. But we did not move far, the lifeguard was on his way running to me, with a squirt bottle in hand. He had heard all the commotion and knew something had occurred.

He sprayed my son’s leg with vinegar. The smell was sickly sweet. But I could see my son relax a bit, as the cool liquid eased the pain and started working on the jellyfish venom.

Needless to say, it was the end of our relaxing day at the beach. Even 21 years later, I can close my eyes and relive this moment and the entire hour or so that my son sobbed till he fell asleep from exhaustion. And I do not mean whimpers. I mean full-throated screams of agony. My friend, my Mom, the three girls and I all wanted his pain to end.

My favorite jellyfish photo ever.

My favorite jellyfish photo ever.

My son developed a healthy fear of jellyfish. He loved the water and he loved swimming. But no longer ever wanted to go into ocean. When we went to Florida to see his grandparents, we would walk along the beach the night before, checking for jellyfish. When he saw a jellyfish lying on the beach he would run in the other direction or hop over them. Usually the beach would be closed if we saw jellyfish. Which was just fine. Most of the time, he just wanted to swim in the pool. And I agreed. I did not want to go through that fear again.

Our family love to go to aquariums when we travel. He loved going as well, but he would quickly run past the jellyfish tanks. He wanted nothing to do them. He did not even want to see them.

I would like to say that this was his last encounter with a jellyfish.

Move forward 12 years. We are again in Florida visiting grandparents. One evening we had dinner with my nephew, who was studying marine biology. He told us all about the different jellyfish and Portuguese Man o Wars, which were common in Florida. And how jellyfish and Man o Wars were not the same things. A Portuguese Man o War was not a jellyfish! Our nephew made that clear. My son was unhappy with the dinner conversation. I think the conversation was actually a foreshadow of what would come the next day.

We were visiting friends on the coast. My son, my college-aged daughter and her then boyfriend went down t the beach to enjoy the great day. The adults stayed upstairs on the balcony and enjoyed visiting. We were getting cleaned up and ready to leave when the younger adults arrived back upstairs. My daughter announced loudly as they entered the apartment that my son ‘was stung by a jellyfish!” He is in pain.”

“Very funny, “ I responded. Thinking that she was joking because of our dinner conversation last night.

“No,” her boyfriend added. “He really got stung. Just as we were getting out of the water”

I looked at my son. Oh no! They really were not joking. I could see that he was in PAIN.

Mother mode kicked in. He really was stung by a jellyfish AGAIN! Well actually not a jellyfish, it was a Portuguese Man o War, even worse!!!

Someone went on line to see what we should do. Did getting stung a second time add to the impact and chances of a systemic reaction? Should I take him to an emergency room? I called my husband, who had remained home during our trip to see grandparents. Probably did not need to take him to the hospital, but needed to watch him for a bit. (My husband is a pediatric allergist, so it did make sense to call him.)

After the Man o War stung him, we used wine vinegar to ease the pain.

After the Man o War stung him, we used wine vinegar to ease the pain.

Vinegar would help. But the only vinegar my friends had was wine vinegar. We used it. We doused my son’s foot in wine vinegar. And then the jokes began. He did smell like a salad. And their dog did want to lick his leg. We got him calmed down as the pain ebbed. And we overstayed our visit by an hour or so, as we waited to make sure there was no reaction.

All was well. My son recovered.

But his odd affinity to jellyfish attacks have created an environment for jellyfish jokes which have become a permanent part of my son’s family life. I must admit, I am among the worst.   My husband and I travel often. And I still love aquariums. I have been to the aquariums in Boston, Baltimore, Atlanta, and more. And each time I go, I take photos of the jellyfish tanks then I email these photos my son.

Sometimes I even buy him jellyfish gifts.

He always smiles and says something like, “Really. This is what you got me.”

But finally I bought him a jellyfish gift that he loves.

His cat’s favorite cat toy had disappeared. He was bemoaning this to me one day, and told him I was going to the pet store to get food for my cat. So I would look for something.

The wonderful jellyfish cat toy I purchased for my son.

The wonderful jellyfish cat toy I purchased for my son.

I found the best toy ever. Developed by National Geographic, part of the price of this perfect toy goes to support animals. It is a jellyfish filled with catnip on a stick. I had to buy it.

When my son came over to pick it up, he laughed. “Really a jellyfish toy?”

“Yes,” I said. You can finally get your revenge. Whenever your cat attacks the jellyfish toy, you can envision those jellyfish that attacked you getting attacked by your cat.”

And he smiled his best smile and agreed it was a wonderful idea.

 

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Bungalow Life was Ruptured When the Water Heater Blew Up!

26 Feb

Bungalow colony life in the Catskills was peaceful. Each day we knew some of the basics of what would happen.

The mothers played cards and mah jonng on a set schedule. The grandmas played canasta. All the women knitted and crocheted during the day. We went swimming. We played. We picked blueberries. We rode our bicycles. We just had fun. On the weekends, the dads came up. It was simple and quiet, except for the sounds of childhood and the sometimes yells of the moms.

The moms had several important needs. One was hot water.

We needed to shower and the moms needed to do laundry. Without hot water, life at the bungalows would come to a standstill. Children got extremely dirty with all the outdoor activities in the summertime. We could wash off in the lake, but not our clothing. So the moms were always busy with laundry.

People did their laundry on certain days because there were only two washing machines in our colony. I think they might have had a schedule, but I cannot be sure. I do know that the laundry room often had loads of laundry waiting to be done. People would put their baskets in the laundry room, with their detergent on top of the clothes, and as one person finished her load, she would load up the next person’s laundry in the machine and start it.

The wet laundry had to be hung on lines. We did not have dryers at our colony. I am not even sure if clothes dryers were available when I was little. So the clotheslines were always in use. Clothespins were important. I still have some I saved from the Catskills!

This meant that rainy summers were a disaster for the moms. Children would sometimes have to wear the same dirty clothes for another day, if they could not be washed and dried. During rainy summers, we often had laundry hanging all over the bungalow during the week. And it really did not dry that well because it was all so damp. Sometimes my Mom would put the oven on to try to dry out the laundry.

We would visit our friends during rainy summers, and walk through layers of drying laundry! Clean clothes, clean linens, clean towels were important!

So imagine the aggravation it caused when the water heater went out. It did not happen very often. But once in a while the pilot light would go out and the heater would stop making hot water. Usually one of the men would go and light the heater. It usually was no problem. The heater lit easily.

Except for one time. The time my best friend, Vicki’s, Dad went to light the water heater. I cannot remember if someone tried to light it before him. I do not remember if he was the only dad up there, so he got to do it. I do know that usually my dad did all the chores since my grandparent’s own the colony. I do not know why it was Normie who had the job on this particular day. But he did.

Normie and his wife, Wini, in matching sweaters in the center. My grandfather stands behind my grandma. Wini's parents are the women sitting on the left and the man standing on the right. At the bungalows in the Catskills in the 1950s.

Normie and his wife, Wini, in matching sweaters in the center. My grandfather stands behind my grandma. Wini’s parents are the women sitting on the left and the man standing on the right. At the bungalows in the Catskills in the 1950s.

His in-laws and my grandparents were best friends. My Mom and his wife were best friends. (A friendship that continued till my Mom passed away.   And still continues with us.) And his daughter, Vicki, and I do not know life without each other. So it made some sense that Normie would take on this responsibility if my Dad or uncle was not there.

But we are not sure why it was Normie who went to light the water heater pilot.

I was just a little girl. But I remember what happened next.

Normie went to light the water heater, it was behind a bungalow.

A moment later there was a big “BOOM” explosion and a blast of fire shooting into the sky.

It was so scary!!! Everyone was momentarily stunned. Then there was chaotic movement.

I vaguely remember Normie walking out from behind the bungalow, dazed. Perhaps burning. Or maybe not! Maybe it was just people rushing towards him to get him away from the fire. There was a lot of screaming; a lot of running around. It is so confused in our memories. But there was good new, he was alive.

Then the Moms gathered the children and made us go inside. I am sure Vicki went with me. All I remember is that we were quickly moved out of the way.

Next thing came the fire engine and ambulance and the volunteer firemen and ambulance/EMT crew. It was amazing how quickly they got to the colony. The fire was soon extinguished. Normie was taken away. The children, me included, were terrified.

My friend Vicki remembers, “I remember going to see him in the hospital. He smelled like A & D ointment or some kind of burn cream he had on.

“I was so devastated that happened to him. I thought he would never come home!”

But Normie did come home. He had no eyebrows or eyelashes, but the fire did not reach his face. He had no chest hair; the fire singed that off. The main damage was to his legs. They were burned.

I remember before the explosion, he had large varicose veins on his legs, but after the fire, you would not really see them.

He often wore a bathing suit in the summer time. And we all got used to seeing his burned, scarred legs.

It was a summer event I cannot forget. To this day I hate when someone has to light a pilot light.   I know that it can explode because of my memories of the day the water heater blew up.

 

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The Littlest Gambler: Learning about Horse Races in the Catskills

18 Feb

It started with a phone call. We were in the Catskills in our bungalow behind my grandparents’ home on West Shore Road. We no longer stayed in their bungalow colony, which was located down the road across from Kauneonga Lake. But my paternal grandparents and my aunt and uncle and cousins still stayed at the colony.

The phone call was either from my father’s sister, my Aunt Leona, or my Grandma Esther. But honestly, I think it was my Aunt, from the way my Dad was talking. His conversation went something like this.

“When did they show up? Did you know they were coming? Okay. Okay, as soon as I can.”

He hung up the phone and turned to my Mom. “My Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny are at the bungalow colony. We have to go down.”

My Mom was quiet. “They are here? Now?”

Well obviously yes. They were here. But who exactly were they? And why was it a big surprise? I had never heard of an Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny. But I would soon find out all about them.

Aunt Hady was my paternal grandfather’s sister.   It seems she is the reason that my parents met. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny lived across the street from my maternal grandparents in West New York, New Jersey. She often shopped in my grandparents’ bakery and she knew my Mom. She told my Dad that she had the perfect wife for him. And in this case, she was right. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny were responsible for my parent’s meeting.

But Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny were sort of the family black sheep. It seems Uncle Lenny was a gambler. Not a good thing in my paternal grandmother’s eyes. She really did not want them around her grandchildren. I found that out.

You see, I loved Uncle Lenny from moment I met him. Just a few minutes later we went to the bungalow colony, and my siblings and I met our great aunt and uncle for the first time. For me it was joy!

I remember Uncle Lenny’s laughter. I remember sitting on his lap and over the next few weeks learning everything you need to know to bet on the horses at the Monticello Racetrack.

He had these special booklets printed on newsprint that listed all the horses running in each race. In the book were numbers and information about each horse and how much you would get back if you bet on whether they win, place or show (first, second and third place.)

I would sit with him and go through the book each day. He always had pencil in his hand to make marks in the booklets. We would choose the best horses for the night. There were a lot of issues to consider. Had the horse won before? How old was the horse? Had he won against the other horses in this race? Who was the driver (This was a harness racing track.)? All these statistics! I loved it.

We would sit outside at a wooden table on nice days. When it was raining we would sit at the kitchen table and go through the book for each race. Sometimes we forgot about the odds and chose a horse based on its name. Special names were important as well when selecting a winning horse! Each day he let me chose one horse for him to bet on.   If I won, he would give me a dollar.

I think it was the dollar that finally got to Grandma!

I thought it was absolutely wonderful.

My grandmother thought it was absolutely horrible.

Little did I know what was going on! I was only 9 or 10 years old. And I was have a great time. But behind the scenes a war was brewing.

One day I was happily going through the races’ guide with Uncle Lenny. The next day he would barely speak to me.   Soon they disappeared. They stopped coming to the colony.   Their visits diminished. No one would speak about them. I had no idea what happened. Only that they were gone for the summer

I did not know what was happening till years later. Uncle Lenny had passed away and Aunt Hady was living in Monticello. Dad was going to visit her. When I found out, I asked about that summer.

It seems my Grandma Esther was furious that Uncle Lenny was teaching me about gambling, about racing and the horses. It seems the horses and gambling destroyed Uncle Lenny, and there was no way Grandma was going to let him influence me. Enough was enough. Uncle Lenny and Aunt Hady were bad influences. And they would have to go. And go they did. Grandma Esther put her foot down.   And when Grandma got angry, you did what she said!

I never looked at a race schedule again. I did go to the races in Monticello one time with a friend after I turned 21. He spent a few minutes attempting to explain how the races worked to me. But I knew it all. Even 11 years later I still remembered everything that Uncle Lenny had taught me. To be honest, I can still see those listings.

My summer as a gambler ended sadly for me. I missed Uncle Lenny and my gambling lessons. As an adult, when I heard what had happened, I felt terrible. Aunt Hady and Uncle Lenny never had children. I believe Uncle Lenny really liked teaching me about the races and enjoyed our time together. I only ever felt love and joy from him.

I regret that my Grandma was so protective. Even though she demanded that my lessons end, I enjoyed being the littlest gambler for a summer. But I have never had the urge to gamble in my life, so perhaps my Grandma was right!

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Come to the Firemen’s Festival! At Kauneonga Lake!

1 Jan

Anyone who stayed in White Lake and Kauneonga Lake in the 1950s, 1960s and early 70s remember the excitement that led up to the Fireman’s Festival. Even as I write these words I can hear the cry of the volunteer firemen as they drove up and down Route 55 and West Shore Road calling out: “Come to the Firemen’s Festival. This weekend! Come support the Firemen’s Festival.”

I still hear how they drew out the words “Fi- re- men’s – Fes-ti-val!” It was a lovely chant! And gave us so much joy when we heard it. The Firemen’s Festival was a highlight of the summer months.

Each year the volunteer firemen hosted a fundraiser on the empty lot in front of the elementary school that bordered the towns of Kauneonga Lake and White Lake. I was always so excited to go!

First were the signs around town telling us when the Firemen’s Festival would be held. Then the week before, the firemen on the truck would go through town letting us know exactly when. We all knew where.

It was an important fundraiser for these very important men (mainly men then) who helped so many!

At the Firemen’s Festival were all sorts of festival games like ring toss and hitting a weight to make it go to the top of the tower. There was a man who guessed your age.   There was food. There were prizes. There were so many people. It was a great time for all. I remember walking around with my parents and meeting up with friends, at which point we deserted our parents.   With a few dollars in your pocket you had enough money for activities to last the day.

The volunteer firemen had a significant role in the community. Now only did they fight fires, but they also came to the rescue of anyone who was in peril of drowning. At least once each summer the sirens would go off and the many trucks and cars of the volunteers headed toward the lake and the fire station. The volunteer firemen stopped whatever they were doing to help. They could not always save the person, but they tried.

They also had the firemen’s beach, which was located next to the ramp where people could put their boats in the lake on the Kauneonga Lake side. It was close to the fire station, just at the edge of the lake. It was where the firemen and their families could come to enjoy the lake.

The Firemen’s Festival was a way for them to raise the money to keep the station going and upgrade equipments as needed. They took no pay. It was just community members coming together to help. The way it is in many small towns.

Their coming together saved my father’s life in the early 1990s. There was no longer a Firemen’s Festival. The fairgrounds are now covered in knee-high weeds. But there is still a volunteer fire department.

In 1991 my Dad decided to cut some branches off the trees lining our driveway. At first my Mom and sister and her husband, Jerry, helped. But after a while, my Mom and sister decided to walk down the road to visit family. By that time the bungalow colony was closed, but people, including some family members had purchased all the bungalows. Jerry, who had poison ivy, took a nap.

Even though my Mom told my Dad to stop cutting while they were all busy, he did not listen. They are high trees. My Dad fell off the ladder and was knocked unconscious with a fractured skull.   When he did not show up to pick up my Mom and sister as planned, they called the house. They woke Jerry, who went outside and found Dad unconscious under a tree. He called 911.

The volunteered firemen responded. My sister said they saw cars flying past the bungalows and knew something was very wrong even before Jerry called them back. My Mom knew it was my Dad. My aunt or perhaps my cousins quickly drove them up to the house, where by this time many firemen and EMTs had gathered to stablize my Dad and get him to a hospital. Their cars lined our driveway.

Although he was first taken to the regional hospital in Harris, near Liberty, where he was further stabilized, his condition was so dire, he had to be taken to another hospital by ambulance. He was unconscious for a week. But he survived for another 18 years. Thanks to the firemen.

So whenever I think of the Firemen’s Festival, I always think of the firemen who years later were still helping those in need. I feel badly that the event to raise money for the firemen is no longer held. The Firemen’s Festival was a wonderful way to raise money and provide a wonderful summer activity. But with the changing nature of the bungalow colonies it was no longer feasible.

The work and the importance of the Volunteer Fire Department should never be undervalued. They deserve our thanks and high praise.

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Loudspeakers Often Interrupted Life And the Quiet of the Catskills

30 Dec

Our bungalow colony was very small.   So we did not have loudspeakers to make event announcements and communicate phone calls. We could easily run over to the bungalow and get the needed person. And since we did not have a day camp or a casino or clubhouse, everyone would make plans while visiting during the day.

But we were so close to Fink’s Kauneonga Park, Top Hill, Sheppy’s and Friedmans that we heard all their announcements. To be honest, sometimes they made me crazy.

Phone calls, camp events, activities, emergencies, all were announced; sometimes over and over again. “Mrs. Shirley Katz, bungalow 7, you have a phone call.” The first time it was announced, it was very polite. But after a few minutes, the “Mrs. Katz, bungalow 7, you have a phone call,” had a much more emphatic tone.

Remember though that poor Mrs. Shirley Katz was up in the Catskills by herself. Her children were around. Her husband was not. She had to get everything settled before she ran to get the phone. Usually the couples arranged in advance when they would have the weekly phone call. But sometimes things just did not work out.

One summer, my friend Vicki was in charge of answering the three phones at Fink’s.  I was a mother’s helper that summer, also at Finks.   I took care of a little boy named David about seven hours a day, while his older siblings were in camp and his mom relaxed and played mah jonng. I think I earned $12 a week.

While I got to be outside, Vicki had to sit in the phone room waiting for phone calls. So often I would take the baby and sit with Vicki while she waited for calls. A most boring job except when the phone rang. We would sit on the back steps, play with the baby and visit while she waiting.

When a phone call did come in, Vicki would jump up to answer it. Then she was the voice on the loudspeaker, announcing who had the call and which phone to go to. Fink’s had three phones and people would get calls on the phone closest to their bungalows. Vicki also announced what movies were playing in the clubhouse. I find that amazing now, that a young teen had so much responsibility.

The main three-phone bank was at the main house where the Finks lived. So sometimes Mrs. Fink, who was also a friend of my grandmother, would give us snacks and something to drink. At times, she sat and visited with us or even let us watch television. That was a treat because most people did not have television reception in the Catskills.

If it started to rain, and I could not get back to the bungalow where David’s family lived, I would just stay at the ‘big house,’ until David’s Mom came an got us. She knew that we were safe with Mrs. Fink. So I do not think she ever worried.

I also took the baby to the front lawn and read a book while he sat in my lap. Sometimes I read out loud to him. I often wonder what happened to David. I read him many mysteries. Perhaps he is a lawyer or judge? He has to be about 45 or 46 now. I watched him for two summers, before I got a ‘real’ job. So I was 12 and 13.

The second summer, Vicki no longer answered the phones. She became a mother’s helper as well. I digress, but being a mother’s helper was a popular job for young teen girls and the moms at the colony.

Back to the announcements: Loudspeakers and announcements became part of everyday life. When I was watching David, sometimes I did not even notice that someone was being called. I was intent on what I was doing. Taking care of a baby is hard work! And little David just sat and played. He could ignore the announcements as well. He would just sleep through them when he was napping!

But for the people in the colony the announcements were very important.

“Tomorrow at Camp is color war day! Remember to dress your camper in the correct color T-shirt!”

“Tonight at the casino is bingo night! “

“This weekend the entertainment will be (insert your favorite low cost entertainer)!”

“Tonight’s movie is (insert a favorite from the 60s and70s). It will be shown at 7 pm.”

“Mrs. Levy, bungalow five, your son is at the concession stand. Please come and get him!”

“Alert, our-year old Bruce Gordon is missing. If you find him please take him to his Mother, Mrs. Gordon at bungalow 23! Let me know when he is found!”

“Ladies, the (type of peddler) is here at the main entrance.”

“The Good Humor truck is in front of the pool. Any one who wants a treat should come now!”

There were all sorts of announcements. And with four bungalow colonies nearby making announcements, we heard them all day long. I remember the one that started the day with the National Anthem. I think it was Fink’s for the day camp.   “Good morning campers! Let’s sing the Star Spangled Banner!” I hated that the announcement was so early in the morning, especially on days when I could sleep in!

Oh I cannot forget the overnight camps. Camp HiLi was just across Kauneonga Lake from our colony and our dock. We heard all their announcements as well. Some were food announcements, telling them it was time to go to the dining hall. Sometimes it was activity announcements and other times telling them to get ready for Shabbat. We could see the campers down at the lake and watch them scurry up the hill when certain announcements were made.

The loudest and most interesting of all the announcements, however, came during the weekend of August 15-18, 1969: Woodstock!!! Usually on the weekends there were not as many announcements because the dads were up, the camp was closed and there were not as many phone calls.

But during Woodstock, we heard all of the concert announcements.

“Let’s welcome Joe Cocker (or any other entertainer) to the stage.” Thunderous applause and the ground shook. YES it did shake with the vibration of the music and the bass and the people.

Each act was announced.   Bad drugs were announced. Food distribution was announced. I even remember the rain being announced. But really we all knew it was raining.

I loved hearing the Woodstock announcements. I remember lying in my bungalow listening to the rain, the music (we could hear it from our house) and the announcements. But those were out of the ordinary. Not the boring usual weekday announcements that could make me crazy.

Actually, the peaceful sounds of the Catskills cannot be remembered without also remembering the sounds of the loudspeakers over the quiet summer days.

Thanks to Vicki for remembering with me.   Also all the names of people in the announcements are fictional!

An Actual Announcement:  https://www.youtube.com/embed/lZ4bzu5Qi2U?version=3&rel=1&fs=1&showsearch=0&showinfo=1&iv_load_policy=1&wmode=transparent

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Personal Mail Delivery at the Bungalows

27 Dec

Each summer before my brother could have a ‘real’ job, he had a job devised by my grandfather. Since my grandparents owned the small bungalow colony where we stayed each summer, they were responsible for certain amenities. One of these was mail delivery.

It was before the time of email and cell phones. Communications with people who had stayed behind in the City for the summer relied on mail.   And since most people did not have cars at the bungalow colony, someone had to walk into Kauneonga Lake and pick up the mail. It became my brother’s job when he was 10 years old.

Before him, he believes one of our cousins got the mail for a year. My Grandpa gave the job to the boys until they could get a real job. Then it was passed down to the next younger boy.

My brother got the job for several reasons. First, of course, someone did have to get the mail. Second, my brother was a grandchild. Third, my brother was an extremely active child. I think my grandfather was trying to give my Mom a break and also to wear my brother out. But honestly, nothing wore my brother out!

My brother’s morning went something like this.   Get up early. Eat a bowl or two of cereal. Then walk to the bungalows. We lived about 1/3 mile up the road from the colony in a bungalow behind our maternal grandparent’s home.

When he arrived at the bungalow colony he first went to the bungalow where our paternal grandparents and great aunt Minnie stayed to have the second breakfast waiting for him. Usually they had eggs, toast and cookies for him. My Grandma Esther was a great baker.   They had to give him enough energy to finish the walk to get the mail. I think she also gave him a nickel or so because he picked up her newspaper.

He would take the mail that people had given him or my Mom the day before, but first checking to see if anyone left him anything on their front steps, and set off for his journey into town.   Sometimes he was given additional jobs, like buy a newspaper at Vassmer’s.   Or buy stamps. So he always had a little bit of money that he needed to take with him and to keep track of it.

It was about mile or so walk into town. Sometimes he would have company. Another boy would walk with him. But other times he had to go on his own. If it was raining, he did not have to walk into town. The mail could wait. No one wanted him to get sick!

The post office to the left and the fire station to the right, across from the lake side on the other side of the grassy triangle.

The post office to the left and the fire station to the right, across from the lake side on the other side of the grassy triangle.

The town of Kauneonga Lake has a grassy triangle in the middle. Around it are the streets that lead to 17 B, West Shore Road and Swan Lake Road.   On the other side of the street were the stores on one side, the fire station on the other side, along with the buildings for the post office and the bakery.

Once he returned from his two-mile journey he would go to each bungalow and deliver the mail and whatever else they had ordered. It was a lot of work for a young boy, but he had a routine.

After he delivered the mail he would wander over to the bungalow where our Aunt Leona stayed. And, as he says, “If the timing was right I would deliver their mail and have my third breakfast.” That is right, breakfast number three. Goodness knows my aunt did not want him to go hungry! And since she was feeding her three boys, what was one more?

He ended his deliveries with my maternal grandparents. He would walk back up the hill to their home and deliver their mail. And have his fourth breakfast with our Grandfather.   My brother said that was usually burnt rye bread toast and coffee. It was burnt on purpose; Grandpa loved burnt rye bread toast! (Honestly I love it as well.)

Yes, my brother ate three or four breakfasts every single weekday morning.

But after he ate the fourth breakfast, Grandpa Nat would give him a chore to do before he could play: cut the grass, pick up leaves, or even straighten nails.   To be honest he and one of my cousins had the nail straightening job whenever they misbehaved.

He would come back to our bungalow and check in with Mom delivering the last mail of the day to her. I think she always asked him if he was hungry because my parents did not know at first that he was eating so many meals. Once they found out, they were amazed. Where was the food going? Did he have a hollow leg? He was so skinny!!! But he was able to pack it away.   I do not know how he did it.

The most amazing aspect is that he still had room for lunch a couple of hours later.

My brother enjoyed his four summers as the mail delivery service.   After he ‘retired’ and got a real job, I became the part-time mail person. Yes, I was a girl, but by then Grandpa had run out of boys.  So a change was made.

The next summer I worked at the bakery in town three or four days a week, and the bakery was in the building attached to the wooden building that housed the post office. So it made sense that I got the mail when I finished working. I only worked in the mornings. So the mail was delivered by lunch. And no, I did not get four meals!

The first summer I worked at the bakery, Grandma Thelma worked with me. But many days, when the store was not busy, she would just go and visit with Mrs. Driscoll.   In reality the post office was the center of town. You not only got your mail there, you also got all the gossip from Mrs. Driscoll.

I loved going to the post office with my Grandma.

While I walked to the left hallway where all the mailboxes were located, they would continue their discussions about Kauneonga Lake happenings. Sometimes when I got too close to them, they became quiet. So I knew to stay by the mailboxes or make believe I was looking at all the “Wanted” posters, so I could listen to all the gossip of the town.

I continued to get the mail one more summer, when I worked at the bakery by myself. But after that summer people started having cars at the bungalows and opening their own post office boxes. So they went to get their own mail.

We had the same mailbox for over 50 years, Box 792. We no longer have a mailbox in Kauneonga Lake. And of course Mrs. Driscoll and my Grandma are no longer with us. But my brother and I have wonderful memories of the post office and our years as the mail delivery service.

Thank you to my brother for sharing his memories and helping to make this an accurate description of a summer activity.

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Waiting For the Dads to Arrive!

13 Nov
A weekend group dinner.

A weekend group dinner.

During the week our bungalow colony was ruled by women. Yes there was always at least one Dad up, taking his vacation and being a presence. And we did have a few grandfathers. But mostly it was the Moms running things. Taking care of us, the bungalows and any problems that arose, be it emergency medical runs due to childhood injuries, dealing with the rain and cold weather, or just disciplining children who were running a bit wild for the summer.

From Monday mornings to Thursday, life was just fun. The Moms were pretty relaxed. They played mah jong and different card games. They knitted and chatted. They took us swimming and went for walks.

They did the laundry, cleaned and went grocery shopping. It was peaceful and fun.

But on Friday mornings, life began to change. It was time to get ready for the Dads arrival. And now the Moms were really busy.

Plans were made!

Would they go to a show or a movie? Which Dad was staying up for the next week? What would they wear? Were they going to have a group dinner this weekend? We usually did. With two sets of grandparents and aunts and uncles, at least once during the weekend we all ate a meal together. (This was before we moved out of the bungalow colony and up to the ‘big’ house. After that we did not always join them for meals. )

The plans were intense. Everything had to be perfect for when the Dads arrived late on Friday.

They would work all day in the City and then drive up for the weekend. It was a weekly exodus from the city to rejoin their families in the Catskills. The traffic was intense especially in the 1950s and 60s before the new highways were built. It took at least four hours to make the journey — a trip that now takes about two hours.

The children were on high alert. You did not want to misbehave on Friday. If you did during the week, it was not too bad, you got punished by your Mom. She might say that she was going to tell Dad when he came up. But any event that happened on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday was usually forgotten. However, misbehaving on a Friday was not a good idea. Moms usually remembered that!

We all got busy cleaning the bungalow and getting back into a semblance of order. Those little cabins were hard to keep clean and neat, especially with three little children. And even more difficult on rainy weeks when we were inside most of the time.

But on Friday, it was an all out effort to make the place look beautiful and cozy.

Often we were asleep when the Dads started arriving. But sometimes a Dad got off earlier and came up in time for dinner. Most of the time we were asleep when our Dad came up. And the excitement was on Saturday morning when we got to see him in the morning.

I think, looking back, that the Moms did love their time of freedom. It was much more relaxed during the week. The weekends were more hectic with shows, shopping and family activities.

We loved seeing our Dad and playing with him. Because our grandparents owned the bungalow colony, my Dad often had extra jobs to do on the weekends. But we all helped. It was just part of life!

The excitement of waiting for the Dads was sometimes too much. We would be so excited that we sometimes cried. And often we would bet which dad would be up first!

The fun and excitement lasted for just two days. On Sunday nights and early Monday mornings the Dads would leave once again. The quiet would return to the bungalows. And the slow, summer days would return until the next Friday.

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Early Morning Fishing Expeditions Were Another Summer Joy

18 Oct

When the mist was still rising above the lake and the sun had not totally come out; when the cool air forced you to wear a lightweight jacket over your clothes, then was the best time to go fishing!

But fishing did not just happen. You had to prepare. First you had to gather the worms. We never went shopping for worms. NO! You got your metal coffee can prepared ahead of time: filled with dirt and holes punched into the plastic lid. Then you waited for a rainy day, when the worms crawled out of the dirt. Collection began then.   You had to collect the living worms, the ones that were still squiggly and crawling and pick them up and put them in your coffee can.

Success was at least 20 worms.

Next step was getting permission and finding an adult who would go to the lake with you. On the weekends, usually a dad would come along. And sometimes the dad who was up for the week would come. But we also had grandfathers who would sometimes go fishing with us. We just had to get up early, collect our gear and go across the street to our dock on Kauneonga Lake.   We would fish off the dock or stand in the shallow water next to it to fish.   This is the time before we were allowed to go on a boat.

Once the permission was granted and a supervising adult was found, then the day was selected. TOMORROW! We will go fishing tomorrow morning. You have to be up at 6 am…Ha. Perhaps 7:00 am. Usually a group of us went fishing together, carrying our fishing poles and our cans of worms. Wrapped up in a warm jacket, we made our way across the street.

I loved to fish when I was little. I did not even mind touching the worms. But I was a bit afraid of the hook. I did not want to put the worm on the hook. I had seen accidents over the years. The hook in a finger or stuck in a leg. Sometimes it got caught up in my hair. I had to wear my hair back when we went fishing. A hat was best! I did not like when the boys flung their poles to get the hook and worm further out in the water. That is usually when someone got hurt.   I liked to stand by myself a bit away from everyone else.

But I still liked it.   Oh, we also had a bucket filled with water to put the fish in that we caught. And we did catch fish. Some were too small and had to be thrown back in. But some were just perfect. And they went into the bucket. They would be dinner eventually!

Fishing usually lasted an hour or two, and then we would take our catch back across the street. Near the area when the cars parked was a big rock and wooden low wall. That is where we cleaned the fish.   When we were really little the dads and grandpas did the cutting and cleaning. But I have to admit, I was really good at it. When I was about 10, it became my job. I could cut off the head and filet the fish the best of all! I do not care what my siblings, cousins or friends say, I know I was the best.

In later years this skill became important. During high school and college I worked in a deli, both in North Bergen, New Jersey, and at Daitch Shopwell in Monticello. I was the best at filleting the white fish. People would choose their white fish and then ask that I filet it.   I very rarely left any bones in. So fishing gave me a lifetime skill.

But when we filleted the fish from the lake, we sometimes found lots of eggs inside and other interesting features. It was somewhat gross, but also somewhat intriguing. I liked to be neat and organized about it.

After the fish were filleted, we would clean them and then wrap them in white paper. This is when the moms would get involved. They had to be wrapped perfectly to go in to the refrigerator. Sometimes we had them that evening on the grill. Other times we waited for the dads on the weekend to eat our catch.

When we got older we could go out on a rowboat to go fishing. I used to go with a friend of my parents. I remember Bernie getting me early in the morning to go out on his rowboat and fish. I loved it. Bernie E and his family had a bungalow on the property that was next to my grandparents’ colony. They lived near my grandparents in West New York, New Jersey. And they bought their property because of my grandparents.

One of my cousins now owns this property along with a piece of my grandparents’ colony. He has a great view of the lake. When I see it now, I am amazed. He has one home when four bungalows used to stand. It makes me realize how small the bungalows really were!

Besides fishing, we also could collect crayfish. These are like little lobsters. They lived among the rocks that held up the docks. We never ate them. We just liked to catch them. The boys liked to play with them. During the summer you would get to recognize different crayfish because of a missing claw or a scar. Those were usually put back into the water.

I would have loved to share my joy in fishing with my children. But living in Kansas, with no lakes nearby made that nearly impossible. However, we had a chance. It just did not go well at all.

Lara fishing lake of ozarks

My husband’s Aunt Matt and Uncle Stan spent every summer at the Lake of the Ozarks, a large man-made lake, which supplied the water power that ran the hydroelectric industry in Missouri. They also owned two weeks in March of time-shares in what were known as ‘tree-houses’ at a resort called Tan-Tar-A. All the nieces and nephews in easy driving distance, those of us in St. Louis and Kansas City, had open invitations to spend time with them. My husband’s Mom died when she was only 59, and her sister, Aunt Matt, took her role as substitute grandma very seriously. So for us an invitation to visit was really a veiled command. One that we loved to obey.

When my daughter was about three, we went to spend a long weekend with them in March. Uncle Stan was so excited, “Precious (he called all the little ones Precious), Do you want to go fishing?” He said. She nodded. And his joy was immense.

The search for bait began. My husband and his uncle drove to several different bait places looking for minnows. Almost all were closed. The season had not yet started. But finally, after hours of searching, they found an open store and brought home minnows. They had forgotten that they had no containers, so they used a big plastic container. Our daughter played with the fish all afternoon. Later that evening, we noticed our daughter walking around with plastic container.   “Where are the minnows?” My husband asked.

“In the sink!” was the reply. She was done with minnows.

My husband and his uncle ran to the bathroom. Some fish were still alive. They filled the sink with water, hoping against hope it would work. No way. That chlorine wiped the fish out. There were no minnows. There was no fishing expedition in the morning. And to be honest, we never tried fishing again with my daughter.   Of course Uncle Stan and Aunt Matt were fine about it. Aunt Matt’s response was typical for her, “Wasn’t that cute?” Uncle Stan chewed on the stub of his cigar. He never actually lit it when children were around, but he did chew a lot that evening!

Years later our nephews tried to get our son interested in fishing. They lived close to Uncle Stan in the St. Louis area, and had gone fishing with him at a nearby pond. But they could not get my son interested. Sitting still and waiting for a fish to take the bait was not his idea of fun. They even gave him a used fishing pool in an effort to convince him to like it. Did not work.

It is the only summer joy that I never was able to instill in my own children. And although I wish they would have learned to enjoy fishing, my memories make up for their lack of enjoyment.

 

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Oh How I Dream About Ice Cream in the Catskills… In the Summer

7 Oct

Sometimes I dream about ice cream. I know that sounds crazy, but since I became aware that I am lactose intolerant, I stopped eating ice cream about 20 years ago. It has been difficult.

When I dream of ice cream, I am always in the Catskills. It is summertime. I am standing on the side of the road by our dock and the Good Humor man comes by, and I get my favorite treat, a chocolate sundae. I am in ice cream heaven.

For years the same ice cream man came by my grandparents’ bungalow colony. Since it was situated right on West Shore Road, we would run up to the gate when we heard that ding-a-ling bell. There would be the big white Good Humor truck. Sometimes we were at our dock across the street. One of the Moms always had money to treat us. It seemed he came every day at the same time.

One year, when I was about 6, a new ice cream man was on the truck, as our ice cream man retired. But I was not forgotten. He had sent an chocolate sundae just for me. I do have to say, I was adorable with the cutest lisp when I was little. And chocolate sundae sounded like “ouclate undae. “

Ice cream treats were always the best. But it was not just the Good Humor man who made us happy.

When we moved up the hill to the new property my grandparents purchase, it had both a winter home and a bungalow, we were very close to Fink’s Kauneonga Park Bungalow Colony.   There was a small grocery store on the property, and sometimes my Mom would send us there to pick up milk or some other essential. She almost always gave us money for ice cream as well. I loved looking down into the freezer to chose a treat. I liked the cone with vanilla ice cream covered in hard chocolate and nuts.  Oh Yum!

We often got an ice cream treat at the Casino/Clubhouse at the White Lake Home Estates when we went to play bingo. And another favorite ice cream stop was Newman’s. There was an ice cream fountain there, and you could order a sundae, or perhaps a milk shake with two straws, or maybe a banana split, or a malted. Newman’s was extremely yum. The year we came up to the Catskills, and it was closed, we were devastated!

When we got older we often went to Poppy’s in Parksville. That was excitement. Usually a group of us drove there after a movie. The weirdest is that we once ran into our parents there having ice cream. We never saw them there again. I think they started going somewhere else. It was embarrassing to be out with a group in our late teens/early 20s and have our parents there. But I think they were embarrassed as well. They could not let go with their young adult children watching.

Lonely me sitting in the car watching everyone else in line to get Candy Cone!

Lonely me sitting in the car watching everyone else in line to get Candy Cone!

But the best of the best in Kauneonga Lake and White Lake is and was and always will be Candy Cone. Sitting close to the intersection of 17 B and Route 55, near to what was the Ritz Theater and across the street from El Monaco’s, Candy Cone is a Catskills dream come true. To this day, a trip to the Catskills is not complete without a stop at Candy Cone.

On the weekends my Dad would drive us up for a treat. There were so many cars waiting for people to buy soft serve ice cream. Sometimes we would get big containers to take back to the bungalow. But really the best was buying the cone you liked. I always wanted vanilla soft serve with chocolate topping. I loved how it froze and became solid on the ice cream. My Mom’s favorite was chocolate ice cream with sprinkles.   Everyone had a special.

During the week, and before we could drive, we often walked the two or so miles to Candy Cone. I will say my friend and I got in the biggest trouble on the way back from Candy Cone once.

Actually we, “D” and I, had walked around the lake, a seven-mile trek up to Happy Avenue then to 17 B then to 55 and Candy Cone and then back home!  I often made this journey with one or two of my friends. We were tired on our way back, even with the ice cream stop! I think we were about 15/16 years old. So we decided to try to hitch a ride. We stood on the side of the road and put our thumbs out to hitch. A car stopped. It was my Dad. (He was up a day early, having been on a business trip.) As we quietly crawled into the car, my Dad said, “If I ever see the two of your hitching again, I will break your thumbs.”

I honestly do not think he would ever do that, because my Dad yelled, but that usually calmed him down. My friend appreciated that he never said anything to our Moms. “Your Dad was cool,” she recently told me. “We could have been in really big trouble.” Which is true. If our Moms knew that we tried to hitch a ride, we would have been grounded, as we knew that hitching was forbidden.

Candy Cone is such a big part of our lives, that even though I cannot eat it, I still go. There is something special about sitting in the car watching everyone eating an ice cream. It brings back so many memories with our parents. In the back of Candy Cone there is a large deck to sit on. When you walk that is the best place to sit. I have been there many times with friends and cousins.

This past summer my brother, sister, nieces and I were up there. We went one time with my brother. And I thought we were done. But as we left on Sunday afternoon, and we were supposed to be on a rush to get home because my niece had to see someone, we stopped at Candy Cone.

“I hope you don’t mind,” my sister said. “ But I promised.”

And how could I let my sister break a promise to her daughter. So we had to stop. They enjoyed every bit of their cones!

There was something special about eating ice cream in the Catskills. It is no surprise that I still dream about it: that cool enjoyment of a swirl of ice cream in my mouth. Oh, how I dream about ice cream in the summertime!

 

 

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