It did not happen often but it was always wonderful. We watched the peach tree and waited for the peaches to drop. It was only in the house at 709 North Strong Street that we had a peach tree. Peaches have always been my favorite fruit. A big, juicy dark red apple with four points on the bottom was always nice, but a rarity at our house. Sometimes some one in town would have a plethora of apples and we would be sent to harvest the leftovers on the ground beneath the tree. These were sorted, worms removed and the harvest made into apple butter or apple sauce which was basically the same thing. Jars of apple sauce lined the shelves down in the root cellar. Fried apples appeared regularly for supper, or dinner. Chopped apples swam in oatmeal. To this day I do not eat an apple unless it is a dark red one with 4 points on the bottom and it is raw.
Pears are actually my favorite fruit, but I do not recall having them as a child. Once when Duane and I were living in Liberal a man in the neighborhood came and told me I could harvest the pears on his big pear tree. He furnished a ladder and I climbed up the tree and managed to harvest a big bushel basket. Of course the kids were eating them almost as fast as I picked them, but I persevered and home we went. I do not recall where the jars came from nor the rings and lids, but I did can them and processed them. Sadly, the kids did not like them from the jar and when we moved the jars were left behind. I assume some one did something with them.
Bananas were a rarity at the store, so pears, apples and peaches were what I grew up eating as far as fruit went. Unless you want to count the Currants and wormy Mulberries. Oh, wait! Every Christmas we each got an orange. That was special only because it came once a year and beneath it was my Big Chief tablet and a brand new pencil.
However, my fondest memory in the whole world was when Momma turned the sign in the front window and the iceman would leave extra ice. I knew what would happen next! On the day the extra ice was left down in the root cellar, Momma would dig out the ice cream freezer. It was washed and dried and assembled on the floor in the kitchen. A can of "Ragged Ripe Peaches" would appear on the table. Rudolph Reinke would appear with a jar of heavy cream. The ice block would be brought up and Jake would use the ice pick to chip the ice so it would fit in the space between the metal bucket holding the elixir and the wooden outside. Making ice cream was a family affair and probably the only time we could all refrain from fighting. Momma cooked the ice cream until it thickened a bit and than poured it into the metal can.
Now, after we had taken turns on the crank and it was getting hard to turn, the crank was taken off and the lid removed. Momma had drained the Ragged n Ripe peaches and used the syrup to sweeten the ice cream. The peaches were added to the mix and the lid returned until it would turn no more. The crank was removed and the tub and ice cream was covered with a heavy wool quilt and left to "ripen".
We were told to go outside and play. Of course that did not happen because we knew that at some point momma would remove the quilt and pull the paddle out. Of course there was always a fight over whose turn it was to "lick the paddle". That was solved by each one of us taking a turn. But the glorious part was when all the licking was over, supper eaten, and the baby in bed, momma brought out the "Ice cream bowls." As I recall they were glass and were a rather amber color with raised flowers of some sort. Today I recognize them as "Depression Glass" and they are rather pricey to buy, but then they were plain ice cream dishes.
When we each had our bowl we were given the coup de gras (or something like that), which was a saltine cracker. You heard me, a plain saltine cracker. The saltiness of the cracker and the sweetness of the ice cream combined to make the best memory in the world to this skinny little girl from Nickerson, Kansas. I will never think of my mother with out the taste of homemade peach ice cream.
Over the course of the years on Strong Street, the peach tree became infested with bores. The tree died, mother went to business school and got a job in Hutchinson, Kansas at some investment company. Life was never the same after that. We had running water and electricity and a car. All the finery's life had to offer.
I have three ice cream makers down stairs and before Covid became a part of our lives, I used to make ice cream at our church and have an open house. The church wanted to make it a fund raiser, but I was just searching for a link back to my past. Life is sure funny, isn't it? Peach ice cream was not a big hit at the ice cream socials and that kind of makes me sad.
Ice Cream comes from the store and is in a box. I do not think they even make peach ice cream, but I can taste it just like I was setting on the porch on Strong Street and mother was inside with dad. I can see my sisters and brother and when I look into their eyes, I know the meaning of complete bliss!
Nothing will ever take away my memories!
