When I was young, before Joyce and Jeanne were born, our family went on quite a few picnics. Mama would fry chicken and make potato salad. I dont remember a vegetable, but there probably was one. She would pack everything into the picnic basket. There would be plates and glasses and silverware. There would be a thermos full of coffee for her and Daddy. My brother and I didnt drink coffee because we were kids. I think we might have had homemade lemonade, or Orange Crush pop. Daddy would get the car ready. He would put gas in the tank and check the oil and tires. There was a blanket that we always had to lay on the ground. The places we had picnics didnt have tables, but there were firepits. The firepits werent maintained by Park Service, but had been there a long time because they were used by other picnickers.
Mother would lay out the blanket, Daddy would start the fire. We sat near the fire, sitting on logs that had been placed there. Everybody would sigh as they started to relax. They commented on how nice the fire was. I didnt think the fire was so nice. It seemed that anywhere I chose to sit, the smoke would follow me and I couldnt breathe. When I moved to a place where the smoke wasnt, as soon as I sat down, the smoke would find me.
Our picnic places were in places where the pine trees were very tall, and there was a small creek nearby. The air smelled like pine trees and pine needles mixed with the cold, clear, mineralized smell of rushing water. The sounds of the wind blowing through the pines, the shhhhhhhhh of the water flowing, and the birds chirping was very peaceful. I enjoyed watching the big black ants and the big red ants marching along the ground.
Mother and Daddy soon would lie down on the blanket and fall asleep. Jim and I were free to wander a little while we let them take their naps. Soon they would wake and it was time to go. After all the picnic things were loaded into the trunk, we would drive home, tired, relaxed, and ready for home.
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