SUMMER FROCKS...

It was a biting, black fly summer, years ago, in a small town in Ontario, on the edge of the Ottawa River. Days filled with the incessant chirp of crickets, late in the evening, to lull you to sleep, in the dark,rain starved heat.

It was the middle of August that I got the invitation. “You are cordially invited…” Oh dear…not that…”To a retirement party. A High tea.A ‘cherished experience’ with tea, buttery scones, clotted cream, jams, finger sandwiches, small cakes and light entertainment.”

That was us. The light entertainment.

There was a dress code. “All ladies will wear summer frocks, hats, stockings and shoes.” Really? Summer frocks? Stockings? 

The hall was huge. Round tables spread with white linens,and a vase on each, with a single, drooping sunflower. Standing fans perched in front of huge open windows. But it didn’t help.

The air was dead and dry. Smoldering.

Tons of peach and floral prints, small and large hats, with fake flowers, bobbed on a sea of permed hair. The murmur of countless women, waved and eddied in  the stifling room. They poured tea and munched on sweets.

In the far corner, our string group dutifully scraped away. Old songs mostly. Some new . We even took requests, but stopped short at “Poison” by Led Zepplin. It was a hit that year, in 1989.

Besides us, there were two opera singers in red satin, ferociously singing excerpts from “Bizet’s Carmen”. 

Speeches afterwards, droning on  endlessly, in the sticky air. Sweat beads plopped into tea cups. 

And the tea. Lemon custard tarts, tiny, heart-shaped scones, bowls of watery cream sitting precariously on ice cubes. There were sweet jams, walnut bars, warm strawberries, and questionable sandwiches, with oozing cream cheese. 

When they had eaten their fill, the sea of summer frocks stood as one, crinolines rustling like rusty leaves. There came an unmistakable band aid-ripping screech, when they all peeled themselves off of the leather chairs.

A table toppled. Dirty dishes, tea cups and cream splashed. It was over. 

Sunflower centre pieces were auctioned off, only to find they were full of  earwigs, all trying to make a break for it. Our quartet played the theme from Doctor Zhivago, till our sweaty fingers slipped off the fingerboards.

There was a slimy, forgettable hush, broken only by the squelch of so many shoes. I guess I forgot to mention that most of us got around the dress code by wearing socks with sneakers. 

After all, the invitation didn’t specify what kind of footwear……

Photographs 2025

 

When it was Canada Day..

 When it was Canada day.......

 Many, many moons ago......

 When it was Canada day....or actually , it used to be Called "Dominion Day"....my mother could never get her head around that one. She would set  her mind to it that we should have company on that day. 

 Outside in the garden, on the old round table. My job was to scrub it down and cover it with a starched white table cloth. My mother thought starched white cloths were  good inside the house and outside the house.

 That was the day she would have my violin teacher over.  I don't think I wanted my teacher to come. I saw her enough as it was. But it was "Canada" ...sorry "Dominion Day", as mother would correct me,  and  there was tea to be made.

 So Frona , sorry,Miss Colquhoun,  would dutifully come over. Tea. With my mother. It was never to be disputed. And tea time was always good. 

 I dreaded that I would have to play something. Then it might turn into a lesson. But Frona always waved away the suggestion. She loved holding her teacup to her nose. Breathing in the Red Pekoe. None of that herbal stuff for her. And a large crystal goblet of some  prize sherry my mother had been saving.

 One time, on Canada Day, my mother decided they should sit outside. Under the trees. Since it was nice out.That was rather a disaster. There were green wormy things hanging off the maple tree. They plopped onto the starched white tablecloth. Into tea cups.Empty tea cups. You could see them writhing around.

 My mother shrieked in horror.Little green worms scuttled across the plate of scones. 

 Frona took it all in stride. We gathered up the tea things and scurried inside.  Frona found it quite funny.My mother tossed out the scones. She wanted to make a new batch, then and there. 

 From then on, it was the dining room table. No green worms. Or bees. Or Crows to drop in uninvited. Once  a crow tried to steal a shortbread.Frona found that funny too.That surprised me. I never thought she found things amusing.

 My  mother set a tea as if the queen was coming. 

 Thin sandwiches of liverwurst, turkey and egg, scones ( minus green worms) with whip cream and strawberries, walnut slice, slathered in orange frosting, and so sweet your teeth rattled, snickerdoodles and shortbread. Hot plain tea, and that ever present glass of sherry ( Canada Day and Christmas). 

 Snickerdoodles.We laughed at the name, and Frona, aka "Miss Colquhoun", would relax and chat. I had no idea that teachers could just talk. They talked about the prairies, since they both came from Saskatchewan, and I would listen and sneak extra dollops of whip cream for the leftover strawberries.

Afterwards, Frona would talk about life in general. How she had learned to be less demanding as a teacher, and to change her negatives into positives. She said she was a work in progress. But it was progress. I'll say. Over the years, she became a good friend. And many Canada Days she sat in my mother's dining room and toasted the day with sherry and tea. And it was good. So Happy Canada Day!

 “It is wonderful to feel the grandness of Canada in the raw, not because she is Canada but because she’s something sublime that you were born into, some great rugged power that you are a part of.” - Emily Carr

 Photographs 2018

OLD FASHIONED WALNUT SLICE

WALNUT SLICE ( Fits an 8 inch pan. I double this for 9x13 and freeze it in slices)

  My mother would make this every summer. Only in the summer, for the most part. For company. For us. Just to have. She always put orange peel on top.  This is the first summer I have made this since she's been gone, which is about 26 years. I have no idea why I haven't before now. Reminds me of sitting in the shade of the trees with kindred spirits, reveling in the yumminess of the walnut slice. As you can see, Spencer is snoozing through the enitre process.....

WALNUT SLICE ( Fits an 8 inch pan. I double this for 9x13 and freeze it in slices)

 

BOTTOM LAYER:

1 ¼ cups flour, ½ cup margarine, 1/3 cup brown sugar
(Combine till crumbly. Press into foil lined ungreased pan)
 Bake at 350 F for 10 minutes.

 

SECOND LAYER:

2 eggs, 1 tsp vanilla extract,1 ¼ cups brown sugar, 1 ½ cups chopped walnuts, 1 tsp flour, ½ tsp baking powder, pinch salt.
(Combine all. Pour over baked bottom layer)

 ( Bo and Bunny...observers.....)

 

 Bake for about 25 minutes till light brown and a knife inserted into layer is not ooey gooey. Should be the consistency of pecan pie. Cool.

( Not Spencer. A look a like)

 

TOP LAYER:

1 ½ cups icing sugar, ¼ cup soft margarine, 1 ½ tbsp. milk or water, vanilla extract or orange extract, whatever you like best.  Combine.

Plop on top of slice.  Can be frozen as is, or cut into slices and frozen between layers of wax paper. Freezes very well.

( Sleepy Smokey)