Summertime in my childhood meant big family and friends picnics, and the favorite spot was under an enormous old oak tree at Yankee Lake Park. The picnics were planned for days in advance by Ma, Commare Lucia, Commare Louisa, Commare Chiarina, and various other Italian Americans that made up our extended family. The women cooked for two days prior to the picnic, each preparing her signature dish, and often trying to outdo one another.

On the day of the picnic, Pa, who owned a large truck, would load tables, chairs, tubs of ice (from Louie the Ice Manís place), full of old soda bottles now filled with his home made wine (NO alcoholic beverages allowed at Yankee Lake), iced coffee, soda pop for the kids, watermelon and other summer fruits.

I remember two distinct events that happened at one of the outings around 1950 or '51.

My brother Jerry, age 7 or 8, and I, rode with my sister and brother-in-law, Martha and Joe. We were each given some small article to carry to the table. Jerry didn't know the meaning of the word walk, and immediately took off running across a field to the table under the oak. As Martha, Joe and I watched him run, he suddenly fell backward as if he had run into a wall. He jumped back up and began running around, holding his forehead, his mouth forming the word "oh," but no sound was coming out. We rushed to him trying to get him to tell us what had happened, but he was in to much pain to talk. Joe, who was the only family member who could remain calm when called for, laid him down, and examined him. The culprit was not a wall; Jerry had run head on into a wasp or bee, as the lump on his forehead and the stinger in the center, which was quite visible, showed. Fortunately, he was not allergic to the bee venom, and after ice packs and much consolation from Ma (who reminded him that she told him not to run around so much) and the other ladies, he was his old running, jumping and playing self again. A happy ending to a scary happening.

For these picnics the men wanted macaroni with all the trimmings, meaning meatballs, braccioles, pork, and chunks of beef, which the women prepared at home. The macaroni however, would be cooked at the picnic site. A fire was built under a low grate, and an enormous pot of water was brought to boil. When the macaroni was cooked. it was poured into a very large, metal colander, whose handles promptly broke off, sending the pasta to the ground. The shocked women made a quick recovery, forming a circle around the fire pit, gathered up the pasta, put it back into the pot, and rinsed it with fresh water. The men, who were busy arguing and solving the problems of the world, never noticed. As they ate the delicious macaroni and sauce, they raised their pop bottles in honor of their wives, whom, they said, had made the best macaroni ever. The women erupted into gales of laughter, and raised their pop bottles in agreement.