Aunt Cora

Don't let that smile fool you, she was a tough cookie - Aunt Cora Jaynes.
My dad was in the Air Force, in Goose Bay, Labrador when I was born. Mom lived in Colorado. Aunt Cora came from North Salem, Indiana to care for my mother and me. My birth was quite traumatic. The doctor couldn't find my heartbeat at one point and my foot was caught on my mother's pubic bone. She was in excruciating pain. So they knocked her out and did who knows what to get me out. It wasn't a c-section. Think military doctors in the early 1950s. She recovered slowly.
Aunt Cora was my father's half-sister/1st cousin. She was old school - very strict. She had one son who she doted on. Her husband came back from WW1 shell shocked. Now they'd call it extreme PTSD. He was locked away in an institution in Kentucky.
Her philosophy on raising children was - spare the rod, spoil the child, give a baby too much attention, spoil the child.

My father was able to return to Colorado to be with us not long after I was born. Aunt Cora went home to Indiana.

Every few years we'd make the trek to Indiana to visit family and friends. Aunt Cora's house was our home base. It smelled musty with a hint of Chihuahua. Skeeter ruled the roost. Nasty little dog that shook when you looked at him, and nipped your nose if you got too close. When I was older, I had to give up the comfort of the double bed I shared with my parents in the spare room for the couch in her compact living room - with a fine layer of dog hair.

Sounds like a miserable time doesn't it? I had a love hate relationship with Aunt Cora and her house.
I looked forward to spending time there. In spite of the irritations, I developed lots of happy memories.
Aunt Cora was the head cafeteria cook at the North Salem elementary school. Their menu

consisted of home made food - home canned fruit and veggies and baked goods to die for. Aunt Cora made it all. During the summer, Mom, Dad and I were the recipients of her cooking TLC.
She had a small mud room in the back of the house with a work bench. That's where my cousins and I cleaned our fish. We'd all line up with knives and buckets of water. If we wanted dinner, we cleaned our own fish. Mind you, we did this at the ripe old age of 7 and 8.
After dinner, we'd eat watermelon on the grass. The adults sat on the front porch swing and various metal chairs in the vast yard, drinking ice tea from metal tumblers or tall, thin rubber spaghetti string glasses while we kids ventured in the back 40 near the apple orchard to catch our nightly firefly allotment. It was dark and spooky back there, but the little lightning bugs thrived among all the trees. Easy pickins'. After a rain storm, it smelled of over ripe apples and wet grass.
On Fridays we'd all venture out in her pink rambler that she affectionately named, Rose Bud. Small neighboring towns held Friday Fish Frys. You could always find one. Fresh fish, greens, potato salad, corn bread and baked beans. And for dessert - an array of hot out of the oven pies made by the local ladies.
Life didn't get much better.

Trailer Days

There's nothing quite like being an only child on a road trip in a station wagon in the 50s. The back end was my playground. And when my dad pulled down the back seats, I had a bedroom.
Before we had our trailer, the suitcases were lined around the sides of the trunk area. But the middle was mine, all mine. I was surrounded by my dolls, picture books, coloring books, crayons...anything a little girl could want for entertainment.
 Oh my, "how did you get by without a DVD player or iPad," they ask.
And when I got tired, I had room to lay down and sleep.
Was I spoiled? Um - yeah.
Dad bought a trailer in the 60s. That took our summertime adventures and fun to a whole new level.
For my mom, I'm pretty sure it was a mixed blessing.
No more eating out and sleeping in motels where she'd walk out of the room without a glance back to the unmade beds and used towels.
Our first trailer was small and basic. It came with a double bed tucked in the back. The only way you could make it was to crawl around on top and tuck in sheets and blankets. My bed was a cot sort of thing above.
We had an ice box, pump faucet, propane stove and one or two gas lights that had to be lit with a match.  Camping out in a metal box.
Our next trailer afforded us more room. It had a real refrigerator, electric lights, hot and cold running water and my bed, still above my parents, was plywood with a foam rubber mattress. An added bonus was two tiny windows, one at my head and one at my feet. Fresh air! We traveled in luxury now.
There was nothing better than sitting at our table for an evening meal - canned green beans and whole potatoes with spam cooked in pineapple on melmac plates. Seriously, I looked forward to it.
Another treat for me - fireflies.
I counted the days until we crossed the border into Missouri and stopped overnight at Our Lady of the Road park. It was nothing to write home about. Not much more than a place off the highway for a few trailers and cars. I remember a statue of whatever saint or Mary that "guarded" the highway and a swing set. And every once in awhile, other children to play with. But the highlight...
Lightning bugs.
Those of us who live on the West Coast can only read about or dream of fireflies, or lightning bugs.
I'd wait on pins and needles until dusk, clutching my glass jar, it's lid poked full of holes.
And then I'd see my first one tucked in a bush. Before long the sky would twinkle with tiny dancing fairies, and I'd chase them until I had a jar full.
I'd tuck the jar in a corner of my bed and fall asleep to the flash, flash, flash of my nightlight. In the morning, I'd release them into the air.
Although I enjoyed various aspects of our trip up to this point, I knew within a day or two, my nieces, nephews, cousins and I would spend our evenings collecting lightning bugs in jars. Now this is what I called - summer vacation.