Big Red Barn--Part III

One Fourth of July, we were favored by a visit from Dad's sister Minnie and husband Bert from Millinocket. We were always happy and excited by a visit from them. Aunt Minnie was a dark haired, dark eyed quiet woman, while Uncle Bert was a dapper-dan, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, always full of fun and jokes. We adored him.

Mom prepared a big Fourth of July feast--we were having fried salmon, early peas and fiddleheads--those wonderful curly green fronds from the swamp, available only once a year. We had made a special expedition to the swamp, and had spent what seemed hours shaking out each tight curl to get rid of the papery covers. Boiled and laced with a sprinkle of salt and pepper and real butter, they were a gourmet's delight. Dessert would be a big ripe watermelon in ice cold slices.

When Uncle Bert and Aunt Minnie arrived, Bert took Dad aside for a short conference. I hung close and evesdropped. Bert advised my father he had brought his own dandelion wine and some cider, and since he knew Mom wouldn't approve (she was definitely anti-liquor!), he would stash the jugs out in the barn "for later."

There were probably twelve or fourteen of us at the tables--an assortment placed on the lawn --and blankets spread for the many little cousins also attending. Even my friend Tillie had been invited. After what could have been a record for gluttony, everyone relaxed and began to catch up on the year's events. Except for Tillie and me!

In nothing flat, the two of us were out in the barn, checking out the jugs. I knew we shouldn't touch Uncle Bert's famous dandelion wine, but the cider was definitely tempting. We had our own tin cups in the barn (from our past surreptitious milking of the cow). I figured no one would miss a couple of cups of cider. We helped ourselves. It was really strong! Very tangy! We thought no one would notice another cup or two, so we indulged a little more. The heat of the barn began to get to me, and I suggested we take a nap in the hay loft--after all, everyone was talking about really dull stuff back at the house.

Apparently, suppertime came without our appearance, and a great hullaballou went up. We were traced to the haymow, chastised (but secretly unrepentant) and sent giggling to an early bed. I think mom was concerned I would become an "alcoholic" but at my age I see no signs of it. I guess I'm safe.

By the way, Uncle Bert came to my wedding years later, and at that time he secretly put some alcohol in the punch. Could be why we had such a jolly time at the reception.