“Playtime” is a tricky topic when it comes to specific ancestors. For one, I don’t have many stories about leisure activities. For another, from what I know about their culture, Puritans didn’t seem particularly playful, and farming didn’t exactly leave time for the Grand Tour. So this topic lends itself more naturally to recent family memories. Being a working-class family, our vacations were modest and affordable—basically falling into two categories: trips back to Missouri for the Fast family reunion, and camping trips. This post is more about reminiscing than research.
The family reunion lasted one day, but the vacation itself was two weeks of visiting—minus three days of travel each way in the days before the interstate highway system. I remember snippets of the journey: Burma-Shave signs, drinking warm Dr. Pepper at a St. Louis gas station while switching from US-40 to US-66, and getting car sick in the rolling hills as we approached Springfield, Missouri. But it was also a time for visiting farms and listening to family stories.
Our camping trips were real adventures. Sometimes we stayed local, at Camp Arrowhead off NY-16 on the way to Olean, or ventured farther to the Adirondacks, especially Lewey Lake. Hiking, mountains, woods, campfires—being outdoors in every sense. Somehow, the love of nature feels like it’s in my DNA. My eastern ancestors often settled in wooded areas they had to clear for farmland. One ancestor lived with the Delaware tribe for over a year after being captured. The Wilderness Road to Kentucky was too narrow for wagons, so my migrating ancestors hiked the entire way. And many who fought in the American Revolution and Civil War walked from battle to battle. As I got older, my “playtime” included canoeing and hiking in lakes, streams, and woods—and my son, who spent many hours as my backpack passenger, has now carried on the tradition.
While “playtime” may not appear in written family history, I do remember it vividly on the Missouri farms I visited. We went fishing (where I learned about chiggers), set off firecrackers forbidden in my city neighborhood, and enjoyed plenty of social time. Clippings show community gatherings—weddings, showers, or visiting friends from out of town. Judging by the sense of humor in my cousins, I’m sure there was plenty of general hijinks.
On one Missouri trip, my cousins Terry and Benny taught me the song My Gal’s a Corker; She’s a New Yorker. One line went, “She’s got a long, long, nose; just like a garden hose.” I was a quick learner and proudly sang the whole thing to my extended family at my aunt’s house. Years later, I learned that our generation’s humor wasn’t always appreciated by our elders—but I’m betting they were quietly laughing as my cousins received their punishment after I left.
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