Those Were the Days

Summers in our small tenement apartment were unbearably hot. Air conditioning was new and unaffordable so like many other Jewish families, we headed for the Catskills on route 17 stopping at the Red Apple Rest for bathrooming and shared treats. Every summer we stayed at the same farm, Scheinman’s Cottages in Greenfield Park.  It was beyond our means to stay in a cottage. We could only afford to stay in the big “Old House” known as a kuchalein (cook alone), a rather ironic title since it was a total contradiction of the actual scene. The kitchen had ten ranges, ten iceboxes and ten dining room tables. Momma did not cook alone in this communal arrangement.

The “Old House” was a peeling, yellowing white frame building with green window trimming (green paint was less expensive than red paint). It was a very old house and so it was called after an additional big house was added to the farm. That was always to be called “The New House.” We rented a room for eight weeks which included three double beds and a small chest. Mostly we lived out of the suitcases that we traveled with, clothing that needed to be hung would be suspended from nails on the wall or door. There was barely space to walk. We were five people in our family and invariably my friend (whose mother paid us) joined us. Memory fails me when I try to figure out how we slept. My brother’s recollection is that he slept on a small mattress on the floor but I vaguely recollect three girls sleeping horizontally across the bed. 

The rusty cast iron water pump outside the “Old House” was the most exalted item on the farm. By pumping the heavy handle up and down, up and down, the most delicious, purest, clearest, freshest, coldest water would spew forth. It would appear on our table in a glass milk bottle at every meal. 

The beauty of the “Old House” was its wraparound porch with its numerous rocking chairs, our playground on rainy days. The house was situated in an apple orchard and while the apples were scarred and wormy, they still could be used for apple pies and apple sauce. “Something for nothing” was a prize for our poor family. The best “something for nothing” was always the huckleberry bushes across the road. A much-appreciated adventure would be accompanying my father huckleberry picking. He carried two huge aluminum pails, and I a small sand pail. After a few hours, we always returned weary, but successful, carrying my treasure with my lips, tongue and clothing stained blue. “Something for nothing” would become the delicacy of the week: huckleberry blintzes, huckleberry pierogi, huckleberry pies, huckleberry muffins and the luncheon meal huckleberries and sour cream.

The farm was a real working farm with cows, chickens and even a goat. Farmer Scheinman had warned the children to stay away from the barn because we would frighten the egg laying chickens. The cow manure patties did not deter us from sneaking down to the barn. It was fun to get the chickens to fly. To reinforce No Trespassing, the farmer surrounded the barn with a barbed wire fence. That was not going to keep us away. We learned how to hold up the wire for each of us to creep into the barn. Barbed wire has sharp spikes set at intervals, which can cause cuts, bleeding and infection. While my friend held up the wire, I crawled under it but she let go too soon and the spike slashed my face from my lip edge to mid cheek. I raced back to my mother bleeding profusely. Scolding, screaming and crying, my mother dragged me to the outdoor laundry sinks and held my bleeding face under the water. We had no access to medical help, barely a first aid box. There were no UBERS to take us to a hospital, no antibiotics, no tetanus shot. Just time and prayers healed my face with hardly a discernible scar. If we had had medical help, they may have used stitches which could indeed have left a scar.

While it did keep me from swimming, it didn’t keep me from enjoying the splendors of country life. We took hikes, we crafted items from nature, we put on talent shows for each other and for the adults. Best of all were the nighttime campfires. We all helped gather the logs and twigs. Blankets were placed around the fire pit. One of our boy scouts knew how to get the fire going and with long tree sticks, we toasted marshmallows, mickies (potatoes) were baked and rescued at the end. Stretched out on the blanket, I can remember the awe I felt seeing the dark star filled sky and thinking if I remained still, I could catch a falling star. I can truly savor my summer remembrances. Those were the idyllic summer days!!!

Ethyl H.

July 2020