Sunday Afternoon
I don't really remember what my family did on Sunday afternoons when we lived on the farm, or even after we moved to the Oxnard Hotel in Norfolk. I think we probably spent a lot of time with grandparents and other relatives who lived in the same community; I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure, just the same. But, after we moved to the Hotel Mary-Etta in Fairbury, things changed. We no longer had much family close by. And, since we lived in an apartment on the fourth floor, we had no real outdoor space to call our own.
Mom took us kids to play in the City Park, or up the hill to beautiful McNish Park, several times a week when the weather was adequate. And Dad rented space adjacent to Crystal Springs to house his horse, Ginger, and our new Shetland pony, Bob. We spent countless Sunday afternoons, and a lot of Saturdays, too, at Crystal Springs, feeding and riding the horses, petting the goats that lived just over the fence, feeding the ducks, and sometimes hiking or fishing or enjoying a picnic lunch. In the winter, we went sledding, starting at the edge of the winding road, down a short hill, and onto the frozen lake. Crystal Springs became our yard.
Eventually, Dad bought a dilapidated old house just a block or so east of the hotel. He used the house for storage. The backyard was the important part of the property, though, because Dad could finally have a garden. The entire yard became a jungle of cornstalks and tomato plants. In the spring and summer months, we spent a part of every Saturday or Sunday afternoon planting or weeding or watering, and then harvesting, bushels of tomatoes and sweet corn. In the summertime, we feasted on tomatoes and corn for nearly every meal. Dad served the excess in the cafe. Mom found time in her hectic schedule to can tomatoes and freeze corn.
So, we investigated Quivera Park and the Mausoleum and the old stone houses south of town. We explored reconstructed Indian dwellings and burial grounds. We fished at the Alexandria State Lakes and Harlan County Dam and a farm pond or two. We picked lilacs from abandoned farmsteads, and wild grapes and plums for jelly and wine, and weeds for winter bouquets. We picked up fossilized rocks and rose quartz alongside the gravel roads. We hunted for old bottles in abandoned dumps and ramshackle barn rafters. We rafted down the Little Blue. We walked along with Dad while he hunted for ducks or geese, pheasants and quail, or even squirrels. We pushed the car out of the mud more times than I can count. And, we often ended the day at one of the neighboring small town dives, where we would eat hamburgers and fries before we headed home for the day.
I miss those Sunday afternoons, when we explored the entire countryside. Maybe yards are a bit overrated.
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| The Hotel Mary-Etta |
I suspect that our lack of a yard was a real hardship that my dad was not expecting when he first started managing a hotel. I've never met a former farmer who doesn't love wide open spaces. For some, a small backyard is little consolation, but it is better than nothing. When we first lived in Fairbury, we didn't even have that. So we compensated.
Mom took us kids to play in the City Park, or up the hill to beautiful McNish Park, several times a week when the weather was adequate. And Dad rented space adjacent to Crystal Springs to house his horse, Ginger, and our new Shetland pony, Bob. We spent countless Sunday afternoons, and a lot of Saturdays, too, at Crystal Springs, feeding and riding the horses, petting the goats that lived just over the fence, feeding the ducks, and sometimes hiking or fishing or enjoying a picnic lunch. In the winter, we went sledding, starting at the edge of the winding road, down a short hill, and onto the frozen lake. Crystal Springs became our yard.
Eventually, Dad bought a dilapidated old house just a block or so east of the hotel. He used the house for storage. The backyard was the important part of the property, though, because Dad could finally have a garden. The entire yard became a jungle of cornstalks and tomato plants. In the spring and summer months, we spent a part of every Saturday or Sunday afternoon planting or weeding or watering, and then harvesting, bushels of tomatoes and sweet corn. In the summertime, we feasted on tomatoes and corn for nearly every meal. Dad served the excess in the cafe. Mom found time in her hectic schedule to can tomatoes and freeze corn.
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| Picking Tomatoes in Dad's Garden |
Sunday was the day that Mom and Dad could take a break from the every day hassles that come with owning a bustling business. We usually attended church and Sunday School in the morning. Then, we ate Sunday dinner together in our apartment, or packed a picnic lunch for an extended Sunday drive. It wasn't long before Dad had scouted out all the back roads in the county, and then in the whole southeastern part of the state and even into Kansas. He had permission to walk on, and hunt on, many properties in the area. Those Sunday drives led to one adventure after another.
So, we investigated Quivera Park and the Mausoleum and the old stone houses south of town. We explored reconstructed Indian dwellings and burial grounds. We fished at the Alexandria State Lakes and Harlan County Dam and a farm pond or two. We picked lilacs from abandoned farmsteads, and wild grapes and plums for jelly and wine, and weeds for winter bouquets. We picked up fossilized rocks and rose quartz alongside the gravel roads. We hunted for old bottles in abandoned dumps and ramshackle barn rafters. We rafted down the Little Blue. We walked along with Dad while he hunted for ducks or geese, pheasants and quail, or even squirrels. We pushed the car out of the mud more times than I can count. And, we often ended the day at one of the neighboring small town dives, where we would eat hamburgers and fries before we headed home for the day.
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| One of Many County Roads |
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