The Season of Black-Eyed Susan’s and Blueberry Pie

On the morning of the Fourth of July, I received a text from a friend and neighbor in New York. “Happy 4th to you. Believe it or not I have just read the entire Declaration of Independence, probably for the first time in my life.”

It stopped me momentarily, a reminder that I should re-read the Declaration of Independence. It was also a reminder of how fortunate we are to be Americans and living in New Hampshire.

When we were growing up, we spent the Fourth of July with my mother’s brother, Uncle Jim and his wife, Aunt Barbara, at Whitmere, their cottage on Merrymeeting Lake. These were magical times. The lake was created, we were told, because “a very irresponsible person had left the water running." Out in the boat we were encouraged to peer into the water and be the first to discover the chimney.

On the morning of the Fourth the boy cousins, “Horatio’s Hornet Hunters” were assigned to search the eaves of the cottages along the shore to find and destroy hornets’ nests, using the galvanized hand pump that was kept under the cottage.

Then, at midday, Uncle Jim organized a parade: pans were collected from the kitchen, whistles left from seasons past were found and a makeshift band was formed. One fortunate cousin was selected to carry the American flag and lead all of us around the camp to the sound of the banging pans and laughter wafting through the air.

Lunch was a grand affair served under a stand of tall fir trees: grilled hamburgers, corn on the cob, Aunt Ruth’s baked beans, my mother’s featherbed rolls, lobster salad from the Maine Millars and butterscotch brownies and fresh berries.

At the end of the day we would walk around the “dingle” followed by stories and games. Just before bed Uncle Jim, for those of us who were staying on, would engage our eyes:

“Let’s clap our hands and call Freddy.”

At that moment Freddy, in the form of a green calico beanbag frog, would come flying over the wall landing just in front of the fireplace. A moment later someone would be sent scurrying into the bedroom to investigate. It was a mystery. We gave up our belief in Santa Claus coming down the chimney long before we gave up our wonderment about Freddy, the calico frog.

I was reminded of Merrymeeting last week when I was invited to spend the Fourth of July with a family gathering on Lake Winnesauke. During these days when politics, violence, and the plight of millions of refugees preoccupies many of us, the opportunity to spend an afternoon under pine trees next to a lake and feeling the love and friendship – the bond that holds a family together – is restorative.

This year the Lakes Region is alive with families, children and laughter. A further reminder of how fortunate we are to live in a place where there are defined seasons. To enjoy bouquets of wildflowers, daises, black-eyed susans and Queens Anne’s Lace and fresh blueberry pie, knowing that in just a few months we will be drawn into the exquisite beauty of the autumn season.

“This is the sun’s high exultation

and the ample months of the lark’s

preference. Beasts roam without

dreams and there are keels in

the water and dragonflies cross

the air. …”.

from “The Summer”

Ned O’Gorman

Five Seasons of Obsession

Elizabeth Howard is an author and journalist. Her books include: Ned O’Gorman: A Glance Back, a book she edited (Easton Studio Press, 2015), A Day with Bonefish Joe (David R. Godine, 2015), Queen Anne’s Lace and Wild Blackberry Pie, (Thornwillow Press, 2011). She lives in New York City and has a home in Laconia. You can send her a note at: Elizabeth@laconiadailysun.com