Snapshot Memory

Growing up in Asheville, our summer Saturdays were frequently spent in the High Country. We picnicked, hiked, destroyed the seats of our pants on Sliding Rock, and just generally enjoyed being outside and playing together as a family. One particular summer weekend lives in the family album of best times, preserved by a photo taken with old brownie camera. I was probably about 10, making Stuart 8 and Brett 3 or 4. I know from the picture that I had a sort of Buster Brown haircut – blunt cut with bangs just below my earlobes – not the most flattering do as I was a little roundish at that age.  Both brothers sported very close cropped, very blonde crew cuts. We all had on the nondescript clothing of families everywhere at the time; shorts, shirts (all cotton, not permanent-press) and tennis shoes (PF Flyers, no less).

Our chariot was a white Ford Galaxy with 2 doors, no ac and all the windows rolled down. I had to ride in the middle of the back seat to keep my brothers from fighting. Actually all it did was make them fight over top of me. Dad would not stop from our door to our destination for any reason. He didn’t care how bad you “had to go”.  No stopping!! First stop was a picnic table in the woods that had facilities on sight. We all went running for the bathrooms. Except Dad, who always sauntered, even if he was dying to go. That taken care of, the feast began.  Why does the same old food always taste better at a picnic table in the woods???

Fried Chicken, potato salad (Mom’s is still better than anybody else’s), pb&j sandwiches, potato chips, fresh fruit (hopefully watermelon) and cookies. All topped off with thermos bottles full of Kool-Aid. Occasionally, there was a soft drink. However Mom always told us the prune juice she made us drink on a regular basis was Coke – we were teens before we lost our disgust at watching friends guzzle Coke. We knew they were crazy because that stuff was seriously nasty. She told a number of those self-serving fibs. Another notable one was that having an ice cream cone was simply that – the cone – ice cream was extra. Anyway, we ate hugely. Then the adventure began. Hide and seek in the forest. Tag, Badminton, a trip to see the bear at Grandfather Mountain, freezing your butt off going down Sliding Rock, riding the train at Tweetsie – you just never knew where you’d end up.

But this particular trip was sort of different.  Splashing in a creek after lunch, we spotted a mama bear and her cubs moseying into the picnic area. She was between us and our parents, between us and the car. Sheer panic crossed the face of my 8 year old brother and he took off.  He was a true blur. Dad snapped the picture that captured him forever in mid-air.  All you can see is bottom, legs and PF Flyers as he dove through the window of the car into the safety of the backseat. The rest of us joined him at a slower pace. We watched the bears finish our picnic and then meander away into the forest. After we collected what was left of the picnic basket, etc., we were homeward bound. Stuart swore he wasn’t getting out of the car again no matter where we decided to go next, but of course he did. The story took on legendary proportions as the years went on and he was always the hero. But my memory will always be that black and white snapshot taken with the old Brownie. The whole day captured in a single moment.

My husband has similar memories of a driving vacation through Florida.  He’s still not crazy about ham and cheese sandwiches out of a cooler.  They seem to be his entire memory of the trip.  One snapshot.  Ham, cheese, white bread and a cooler.

What’s your snapshot memory?