Written by Galen White
I scream; you scream for ice cream! Remember that phrase?
Well, many of you know how fond I am of ice cream. In fact, some of my fondest memories came about as a result of the savory substance. So, I suppose it would be safe to say it wouldn’t be surprising if you guessed correctly that the rest of this article is about ice cream!
See there. I ain’t sure that last sentence even made sense. Some of you English teachers out there are probably cringin’ at my slaughter of proper sentence structure. Well, blame it on the thoughts of ice cream. It is my drug of choice and once such a though enters my mind, all others fly out the window! Okay, okay. You’re right. It ain’t very crowded in there anyway; but the thought of ice cream will run the other thought out.
It’s kinda like that “brain freeze” that occurs when you take a big bite of ice cream. Know how it makes your head hurt? Of course, there are some of you who claim my brain freezes up all the time and ice cream ain’t got a thing in the world to do with it. That’s okay, though. One of these days when it unfreezes, I’ll come up with somethin’ to retailiate…, retallia,,,. I’ll get you back one of these days.
Regardless, I was reminiscin’ the other day about ice cream cones and how tasty they are, when a vision of a five or six year old lad came into view. One of my brothers, Don, lived in Shreveport along with his family. Back in those days, that’s what most families did – lived with one another.
Anyway, it was always a treat when I got to travel with my folks all the way from Crossroads and the banks of White Creek to Shreveport so I could visit with my nieces, Brenda and Suzy, and nephew, Mike. Seemed to me we only went over there a couple times a year, although I’m sure it was more often than that. Most likely, Interstate 20 was not even on the plannin’ board at that time, but even if it was, a super highway wouldn’t have kept me from wanting to travel Highway 518 and 79. You see, the intersection of these two highways held special interest for me. Guess you could say that since I studied them so much, I could be considered a “Roads” scholar!
Hey! You call it Rhodes Scholar if you like; I ain’t gonna argue the point with you! Anyway and if you are familiar with these two highways, you know they intersect a few miles east of Minden before 79 heads off in a northerly direction toward Homer. And if you are old enough, you may remember there once was a Dairy Cream located at the intersection.
Now, I may be wrong about the name of the little stand, but I definitely remember they served ice cream cones. And I definitely remember the times my dad would stop and buy us one either on the way to Don’s or on our return home trip.
Of course, we didn’t stop on every trip; times were hard and my folks just couldn’t afford such a luxury. I was too young to understand, so I usually ended up squawlin’ my eyes out or threatenin’ to get out and walk home. Most often it was the first item. When dad stopped the truck to let me out once, I had second thoughts about the walkin’ home bit. I became very proficient at the other, though.
Then again, had I really thought walkin’ would’ve gotten me an ice cream cone….
Yes, sir, those were the days. And how I remembered eatin’ a bowl full of homemade ice cream too. You know; crankin’ a handle which turned a drum ’round and ’round. Packin’ ice down in between the drum and wooden bucket. Lickin’ saltly fingers after addin’ salt to make the ice met faster. And if I was lucky, gettin’ to lick the agitator from inside the drum after the ice cream had made! Folks, if’n I wasn’t an adult, I’d break down and cry right now!
‘Scuse me for a minute or two. Seems like I’ve got somethin’ in my eyes that are causin’ ’em to water up a mite. Must be somethin’ in the air.
Seriously, I’m sure if you were ever a little boy or girl, you have fond memories of ice cream as well. On the other hand and if you were never a little boy or girl, then by golly you ain’t gotta clue as to what you missed.
You know what? Maybe I ain’t completely grown up just yet. Think I’ll get me a bowl of ice cream right now.
Galen White has written articles for several papers in North Louisiana and is now retired.