The Farmhouse Kitchen: Sweet July Memories

Nobody in Mississippi would argue that July is when Satan is in charge of thermostats, and he sets them all to “hell,” then sits back and laughs. The temperatures are rising, and July dutifully gives us a taste of what August holds. But the middle child of summer also brings celebrations and vacations. Our January dreams of swimming pools, ice cold sweet tea, tomato sandwiches, and home-churned ice cream have finally arrived.

When I was a kid, my dad’s family reunion was the last Sunday in July — every year, rain, or shine. We would go to my Uncle Bob’s cabin on a lake in western South Carolina. The grown-ups in our family would spend the entirety of the weekend at my Mamaw’s and my Aunt Annie’s houses shucking corn, peeling potatoes, and boiling eggs. Our job was to stay outside and not slam the screen door as we left. On Sunday morning we trotted ourselves to Sunday school; it was Mamaw’s orders whether the adults went or not. When we returned, the house smelled of deviled eggs, potato salad, fried corn, and fried chicken. And the biscuits, oh my word!

Everything would be loaded up into cars, marching orders were given as to who was responsible for what, who was picking up the ice, and who was going by the market for a couple of cantaloupes. The rule was we waited 30 minutes after we ate to jump into the lake, and we had to wait for a dad, or an uncle, or a grown-up cousin to load up their .22 caliber gun so they could take a crack at the moccasins. We’d hear “SNAKE!” and that was code for head to shore. Were we deterred? Heck no. Right back into the water we’d go. There’s no way on God’s green earth I’d ever go back and redo THAT portion of those days, but, oh, what I wouldn’t give to relive the rest.

I hope you’re making some wonderful summer memories. I hope your first watermelon and tomato sandwich of the season was memorable enough to make you long for summer next year.

Explore Other Categories