What do cheese and pickle sandwiches and the beach have to do with making art?
Installment #1
Growing up in close proximity to the Jersey shore in the 60’s meant beach picnics with our extended family. My dad would pack us all in our 1963 VW bug (three kids and two parents) and we would drive sans air-conditioning to Longport, NJ, where we would meet up with his sister’s family. Total head count was 12 or more people altogether. Things weren’t fancy then, like they are now. There were no super highways. The route we took was through the South Jersey farms and farm stands along 2-lane roads. We always stopped to buy bags (usually Jersey peaches) of fruit for the family. Once we got to the beach, which seemed like forever to us kids, Dad parked the beetle to the side of road at the designated meeting area and we disembarked with no need for beach tags or big coolers. Small cottages dotted the sand roads leading to the beach.
Between my mom and my aunt, lunches had been prepacked. My aunt’s specialty was American or Cheddar cheese sandwiches with mustard (the yellow kind) and pickles on white bread. This was before plastic zip lock bags. The sandwiches were wrapped in brown paper. My Uncle always made Snickerdoodle cookies. I do not remember fancy beverages. It was always water that my dad brought in a metal canteen with a plaid cover. There is an art to not letting your lips touch the spout when sharing a canteen. Big green army blankets were spread out on the sand. Pails, shovels, sifters, and flotation devices were carried by us kids. We all immediately rushed into the ocean jumping waves and carrying on.
My dad’s beach outfit was his red Temple University Varsity jacket and swimming trunks that must have been from 1950. He was a really strong swimmer. (I recall him swimming in pre-hurricane waters in 1963 in Wildwood. My mothers’ relatives owned a big hotel called the Aztec. My mom and I watched him swim out while on the beach a tiki hut roof blew off. He was a consummate daredevil jock. I remember my mother being very worried.)
Once it was deemed to be lunchtime, we were called in. First the cheese and pickle sandwiches were handed around. By this time, which was a couple of hours in to it, the cheese had begun to melt and not necessarily in a good way. Wonder White bread and cheese subjected to the sun is interesting. The pickles added an extra bit of mushiness. If that wasn’t enough, and as you probably know if you have ever tried to eat anything on the beach, sand worked its way into every bite. This sounds really awful, right? Eating was further complicated because inevitably we were all forced to eat while under makeshift tents made out of towels and blankets as gulls would very quickly set upon us. I recall at least once a kid having his or her sandwich taken by the naughty dive-bombers. If you have ever had this happen to you, you know exactly how frightening it is. I’m sure it was quite a sight to see a dozen humans huddled under cover scared and hiding from a flock of birds trying to peck their way in to take our mushy sandwiches.
The thing is this: I remember those sandwiches, in all their mushy grittiness as the best sandwiches ever. I’m not sure if it was that we had such fun times with all the cousins together, the comfort of being a little kid with nothing to do but play, being surrounded by family, the sea air, the tiredness that you get from being in the ocean, or that memories shift and the sweetness of a time when things were less complicated takes over. Sometimes, I make a cheese and pickle sandwich just to recall those now long ago ‘60s: a decade where people felt free.
Stay tuned for the next installment of Beach Fun Means Cheese & Pickle Sandwiches and see how I connect this story with creating art and giving agency to your narrative.
© 2022 Carolyn DiFiori Hopkins. All rights reserved
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