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Summer Drive / By Pat Kimberley Our last summer vacation spent in Wisconsin at the lake, in 1939, was as full of happiness, delight and pleasure. But what I most remember is a could-have-been-tragic event, in which I played a major role. My emotions still roil, but, I also smile. Wheat harvest was over, a signal moment for our family. The season, from the sowing of the winter wheat in early Fall until its ripening in late July, was closely watched by my parents. For my father, it meant intense long days at the grain elevator he operated, across the Missouri River, in Howard County, Missouri. We lived in Boonville, in Cooper County. It was a twenty-minute drive to work for Daddy, and for Mother, too, those days when she contributed her book-keeping skills, as the wheat came in to be bought, sold or stored. The weeks passed as we children carried on our usual pursuits with neighborhood playmates: swimming in a nearby pool, all sorts of outdoor games and projects, and constructing magnificent edifices in the sand pile and squashing them! Eventually we sensed an improving atmosphere at home. This meant the harvesting was about completed and timorously we'd broach the all-important questions: "Are you about through at the elevator? Can we leave pretty soon?" Usually just a day in advance we'd hear the big announcement: "Okay, kids! Gather your clothes, help your Mother with the packing and get to bed early!" Our excitement fairly exploded!!! The destination was Lake Winnebago, in southeastern Wisconsin, a good ten or twelve-hour drive north. Mother would rouse us around four o'clock in the morning, with no objections from anyone. We'd hurriedly dress, grab our pillows and pile in the Buick. The initial part of our trip had a magical aura about it. Darkness enveloped us, the stars were still out, the early morning coolness was delicious. A peaceful stillness eased us into drowsiness and more sleep. As our journey took us north through Iowa, then into Wisconsin, we noticed the air seemed lighter, fresher and cool. Along the roadways we were awed by the sight of Wisconsin's colorful fresh vegetable stands, heaped with luscious-looking produce: sweet corn still wrapped in husks, brilliant red tomatoes, green beans, peas, cabbages and onions. Mother would carefully study items in each booth before selecting and our mouths watered as we dreamed of meals in store for us. She was a good cook, and an accomplished gardener, but Missouri's weather that year had been as hard on gardens as it had been on the crops. Soon we spied through the trees the sunshine sparkling on the waters of Lake Winnebago and we were there! A cabin with a big screened-in porch facing eastward and the lake - and a kitchen - and rooms with beds - all we needed! We explored these spaces, unpacked, put on our swimsuits, and we were ready. Those glorious days were spent in and around the water, swimming, diving, boating and canoeing. We soon found friendly playmates from other families who had summer homes along the shore, or rented cabins as we did. There were outdoor games to play in addition to water activities. We scavenged in |