We Made Ice Cream

I remember! Cranking that old wore-out handle on that ice cream maker, until I thought my arms were going to fall off. Having a big smile on my face, as I turned and turned, pushed and pulled on that old crank begging my big brother, the whole time to “Spell me!” so I could set on an old rag on top of the ice, using my weight (as it was) to hold that ice cream maker in place. I remember my grandfather coming out of the house, out on the back porch. To make sure my big brother and I was “Doing it right.” as if, there was a wrong way! He made sure that we had plenty of ice, plenty of rock salt. I can still see him sticking his little finger in the weep-hole to make sure it didn’t get stopped-up. That was most important to him, as he always got the first bowl. I don’t know why? He clamed, he would get the first bowl, to make sure that salt didn’t get into the mix. Funny to me, he never made a salty face as he was eating that first bowl. I remember, watching my grandmother making that “mix” she picked the freshest eggs, measured just the right amount of vanillin extract, I loved the way her kitchen smelled. I watched her chop the bananas peal the peanuts, stir it up with the cream and sugar. She hummed “Old Rugged Cross” as she made that sweet ice cream mix, it was as if she was having fun; like the turning of the crank for us boys, work for sure but still fun! I would eat light, as that banana-peanut ice cream cured while we had supper, waiting for grandfather to finish his third helping, we had to wait, he always got the first bowl, I don’t know why?