ORIGINALLY WRITTEN CHERYL JOST
“It’s my husband’s theory that if we made animals come out in this heat and play game after game of ball under the glaring sun, we’d all be in jail for cruelty.”
Shaking his head in agreement, the umpire just looked at me and said, “It’s amazing what we do to our kids.”
Last week Meg and I traveled all the way to Beloit for a softball tournament and, even though the sun was hot and the day grew long and tiring, my daughter and the girls on her team still managed to have enough strength to tease each other, run through a water hose, and giggle an awfully lot.
In the next few weeks, our kids’ ball games will have come to an end. Alex and Meg have really enjoyed playing with their teams this summer. The other players have been fun to hang out with and they, along with their parents, have appreciated the quality coaching that has led them through their season.
I can hardly believe July is already here. The summer is just going by too quickly and, what with all the ball games, farm work and summer camps, we’ve barely had a chance to go to the pool or take the boat out to the lake or just sit back and do nothing.
And isn’t that what summer is suppose to be all about?
I know there’s always work to be done. I married a farmer, remember? But hopefully things won’t be so hectic this month.
Oh, whom am I kidding? I just looked at my July calendar and it looks almost as bad as June did. But at least for five days we’ll be able to get away and head for the hills. The Black Hills, that is.
We do have a family vacation planned for July. It coincides with the wedding of Keith’s nephew, Eric Driggers, who will marry Tami Jons of Bonesteel, S.D. After the wedding, we plan to drive over to the Mount Rushmore area and be-oh, no-tourists.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m in the mood to be a camera-carrying, pecan-log-eating, T-shirt-buying, fanny-pack-toting tourist. I want to browse through all the souvenir shops with counters stocked with commemorative key chains and tiny spoons that say, “Mount Rushmore, Land of the Presidents,” or some other shlocky slogan.
I’m ready to be parted with a few bucks to drive through “Bear Country” so I can come “face to face with wildlife running free in a natural habitat.” I’m willing to pan for gold in an abandoned mine or to walk through a hillside cave and stare in wonder at its natural beauty. I might even be persuaded to take in a hillbilly-style mountain music review.
OK, that might be stretching it.
But on this vacation-at least after the wedding is over-I’m not going to care what my family looks like. I’m not going to fuss if Meg doesn’t comb her hair or if Alex wears his favorite ripped up T-shirt. If Keith drips barbecue sauce down his front, I’m not going to comment. And if I forget to put on any makeup-hey, I’m not going to care.
Because I’m going to be on vacation. In the wilds of South Dakota. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt and Thomas Jefferson aren’t going to care if my shirt needs pressing or if my socks don’t match.
And as long as my personal hygiene is up to code so as not to be offensive to my fellow tourists or to any tour guides, waitresses or shop keepers that I might encounter, I’ll say it again: I’m not going to care.
This is our first major car trip in a long time. Our past adventures have found us flying to our destinations, but South Dakota just isn’t some place one can easily catch a flight to. In preparation, we’ve had the van serviced and Rod’s Tire fixed us up with a new set of Michelins.
We’ve poured over the maps to set our routes and have made reservations for our night’s lodging. Melissa and Rollind Bartel will take in our animals-even the chickens- so we don’t have to worry about our menagerie suffering alone at home. And we’ve informed all of the coaches the kids can’t play ball for a few days.
All that is left to do is throw some clothes in a bag, fill the cooler with drinks and snacks, fill up the tank with gas, and wait for the day when it’s time to hit the road.
We’ve rented a “centrally located” cabin in Keystone that is “nestled in the pines” with a “nationally recognized” restaurant and a “convenient heated pool and children’s playground.” At least that’s how the brochure spells it out.
We’ll see. But here’s the truth. As long as it’s clean and quiet, it will be OK with me. I just want a place to decompress. I want to relax and go with the flow and, well, not care about anything.
Except for which T-shirt to buy.
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Our family has found itself heavily into yogurt these days, especially the Yoplait brand. Yum. I went on the Yoplait Web site and found this recipe which I thought I would whip up for part of our Fourth of July celebration. I plan on using blueberries instead of the kiwi to make a red, white and blue dessert. Happy Independence Day.
Heavenly Strawberry Trifle
1 angel food cake
2 containers (6 oz.) Yoplait strawberry yogurt
2 cups fat-free or reduced-fat whipped topping
2 cups sliced fresh strawberries
3 kiwi, peeled and sliced
1/4 cup slivered almonds, toasted
Tear cake into about 3/4-inch pieces. Layer half each of the cake, yogurt, whipped topping, strawberries and kiwi fruit in two-quart serving dish. (Clear glass makes a prettier presentation.) Repeat. Top with whipped topping and sprinkle of almonds. Cover and refrigerate at least two hours. Serves 12-15. One serving has 230 calories and two grams of fat.
