We're looking back on some of the old stories
that have run in Southern Living magazine
over the past 50 years.
And we've had this collection of Southern journals,
where all of these Southern authors
have written in about Southern things.
This story is called "Ice Cream Supper";
it ran in August 1998.
This gal, Susan Childs, reminisced on
Sunday night suppers on her family's farm.
So, this is going to be a good one.
"My mother's people were a fun and eccentric lot.
"Aunt Lessie, splendidly absentminded,
"made the best five-layer chocolate cake in the county,
"when she remembered to add the eggs.
"Aunt Doe, who crumbled cornbread
"into a glass of buttermilk each morning of her life,
"swore that breakfast helped her know
"which cows would give the most milk on any given day.
"No doubt it helped account for
"her substantial girth as well.
"That she constantly feuded with Aunt Hess
"became the stuff of family legend
"since they lived together on the farm
"my great-grandmother had bequeathed them.
"It was to this farm that Mama Jo,
"she was too young, she insisted,
"to be called grand-anything by me,
"and I headed every weekend during my childhood summers.
"Wedged between Chehaw Mountain
"and the Talledega National Forest,
"the 250-acre spread had been in the Bradley family
"since the Civil War.
"Here, knee-deep in rural Alabama,
"I witnessed my first river baptism.
"Here I also attended my one and only tent revival.
"But as exotic as these events were
"to my urban, New South sensibility,
"nothing outshines in my memory
"the ice cream supper that commenced
"every Sunday at the Bradley farm.
"An ice cream supper is exactly what the name implies:
"an early evening meal whose first, middle, and last courses
"consist of ice cream.
"No fried chicken, no mashed potatoes,
"just ice cream, homemade and plenty of it.
"Ingredients include fresh fruit,
"condensed milk, eggs, and lots of sugar.
"Three to four flavors were the norm,
"but peach and banana remain my favorites.
"The ritual never deviated; we kids did all the hand-turning
"that went into making these confections.
"Those of us who were old enough to drive
"went for more rock salt if supplies ran low,
"which they invariably did.
"When the moment came to test the cream,
"Aunt Hess, our official taster,
"would either exclaim its perfection
"or put down the spoon, indicating more time at the crank.
"As the eating commenced, so did the telling of stories.
"My grandfather, addressing me by my family nickname,
"usually kicked off the adventure
"by going straight for the funny bone.
"'Dood'bug, did I ever tell you about
"'the time your grandmother got so mad at me
"'she laid under a crabapple tree
"'and fired a pistol straight up into the branches?
"'Mockingbird shied away from the crabapple after that
"'and so did your granddaddy.'
"The anecdote about Mama Jo seemed like heresy to me,
"but the teasing, which was nothing if not democratic,
"embraced our imperfections one and all.
"Weekly we giggled too at Aunt Lessie,
"who once searched all day for her freshly washed nightgown,
"her favorite blue one, only to find it nesting
"among the produce in her refrigerator.
"On it went, this offbeat social,
"with its good natured banter.
"How it thumbed its nose at the time-honored notion
"of no peas no dessert.
"How it laughed at the institution
"of proper and saintly grandmothers and great-aunts.
"Sweet anarchy was the ice cream supper,
"presided over by that outlandish and loving bunch,
"my mother's people."
(quiet soft rock)
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