Sunday Afternoon Tea - July Ponderings

July has always been one of my favorite months.  How can I not love a month that begins with America's birthday and ends with my birthday?  Now I have two granddaughters with July birthdays, Faith and Piper.  Faith was born on Independence Day and at the time, my daughter wondered if she would think the fireworks were to celebrate her birthday.  She figured it out, being a smart girl and all.

As much as I love the month, I no longer love the heat.  There is an Alan Jackson song that keeps going through my mind, Chattahoochie (Hotter than a Hoochie Coochie).   He may have been in Georgia but it is that hot and humid here in the Midwest!

I always have to remind myself that corn loves the heat and I very much admire the farmers who grow the corn one year, and soybeans the following year.  My husband called me recently, assuring me that he had pulled the car over to the curb before getting on the cell phone so no laws were being broken, to tell me the farmer was selling sweet corn next to the pizza place again and did I want any?  Absolutely!

I have mentioned before that I am a corn snob, growing up with a mother who thought any corn picked more than an hour ago was not good.  Thankfully, the newer types of corn retain their sweetness long after that but I still will not purchase corn on the cob in the grocery store.

He bought half a dozen ears of corn, the farmer always throws one extra ear of corn in the bag.  We had part of it that night and the rest of the corn a couple nights later with the black bean burgers I made.  It was a marriage made in summer Heaven.

The 4-H fair has been going on but it was way too hot for us to make our way out of the air conditioning.  No matter how good an elephant ear dipped in cinnamon sugar sounded. The heat would not have stopped me when I was sixteen but it does now.  Of course, I could take the heat better back then.

I have fond memories of the old 4-H fair buildings, most have been replaced by air conditioned buildings for the safety of humans and animals.  However, there is nothing like the old pig barn in July to clear your sinuses.   

There are still ribbons given to 4-H members for things like sewing, making jam, baking, etc.  But I remember when homemakers would show off their best work, vying for ribbons at the fair.  Of course, that was also back in the day when the Women's Pages in the paper were full of favorite recipes and Billy Graham had a weekly column in the papers.

July reminds me of being sixteen, an age where adulthood is just ahead but for most of us, not the burden of responsibility.  Not, yet.  Soon enough.  My scent in summer was not one of perfume but the Coppertone suntan lotion lathered on to try preventing sunburn from my very pale skin.  It rarely worked but I still loved the smell.

My music came from a portable radio most of the time.  I recall summers before my dad died when he would walk around the yard, holding his portable radio up to his ear, listening to Chicago baseball. He would have loved earbuds!  I can't recall if he was a Cubs fan or a White Sox fan and my brother who knew has passed away.  Such important historical facts should have been written down.

Chicago baseball was his adopted fan base as my mom and dad moved to my hometown just months before I was born.  He was from Southern Indiana, which is really Northern Kentucky.  But I don't remember if Louisville had a professional baseball team back then even though the Louisville Slugger bats are made there.  I think they may have.

For those not from Kentucky or "Northern Kentucky", Louisville by locals is pronounced "Luville" and never Louis-ville or Lueeee-ville.  My mom is from just south of Louisville in Kentucky and one knows the right pronunciation or else. But I digress...

Just as the music of that era can make me feel nostalgic, Chicago baseball does the same.  Which is a good thing since my husband rarely misses a game, unless they are losing a lot and he is upset with them.  During the All-Star game publicity recently, the White Sox were named the most "Disappointing Team" of 2022.  He will verify that.

There are certain foods that remind me of summer... the aforementioned corn on the cob, hot dogs, potato salad, baked beans, Kentucky fried chicken (although Mom made it all year, she especially made it in summer), banana pudding made with vanilla wafers, and fair food.  Especially elephant ears.  I think every culture has a favorite way of frying bread.

All of these (with the possible exception of elephant ears outside of amusement parks and carnivals) are also made at other times of the year but it is not the same. There is something about it being hotter than a hoochie coochie that adds to the experience of eating those foods in summer.  Potato salad is not the same in January.

It is about the time we have turned the calendar page to August on our calendar that I am ready for Fall and October.  I still cannot get used to school starting in August. It wasn't officially time to think about school until the September issue of Seventeen Magazine was on the newsstands.  

That was a different world and honestly, it was not perfect.  I was very unhappy in most of my adolescent years due to family dynamics after my father died.  However, the culture was better then.  I feel sorry for young people who have grown up never knowing what the world was like, especially before 9/11.  

Although, maybe they are the fortunate generation.  They are not mourning what it was like... before.  But we have to remember, as I remind myself over and over, that everything going on in the world are the birth pangs of the return of Jesus as He promised 2,000 years ago.

He says that what He has planned for us is beyond anything we can ask or think.  The Marriage Supper of the Lamb will be infinitely better than my mother's fried chicken.  Far better than all the imperfect parts of our memories.  The good old days have not even begun, yet.  

Maranatha!  Hold on my friends.  It will be worth it all someday.

Image:  My favorite photo of my deck taken many summers ago.