Childhood memories of Aunt Elda and uncle joe

 As a boy, when my dad went off to the army reserves in the summer, my mom and I, along with my two sisters, went to Michigan to visit my mom's aunt, Elda, and uncle, Joe. They lived quite a ways back from a country road in a modest but very nice house. They had a few acres that bordered a corn farmer, who let us run through the rows and rows of corn so sweet we ate it until our bellies ached. Uncle Joe had a small tractor that he used to cut the large yard with, and he would hoist me up and sit me on his lap as we mowed and mowed until Aunt Elda called us in for lunch. Any meal Aunt Elda served was a three-course meal. Breakfast consisted of fresh eggs from her chicken coup, toast made with her homemade bread, and her homemade jellies. Fresh orange juice or tomato, if you prefer. And Uncle Joe's favorite: a thick slab of Canadian bacon. Aunt Elda knew my mom's favorite was a nice, hot bowl of grits with a dab of real butter, prepared just for her.

Lunch meant a huge bowl of fresh-cut fruit, a selection of lunch meats and cheeses from the butcher shop, as pre-packaged meats never saw their table. Each of us kids got a tall, chilled glass of whole milk with a spoonful or two of chocolate syrup to wash everything down.

Dinner was a work of art, featuring an entire turkey or a glazed ham that Uncle Joe had hand-carved, along with mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, a dinner salad, and fresh corn from the neighbor. Homemade dinner rolls and fresh-squeezed lemonade. The desert was a cake Aunt Elda baked with whipped cream frosting, topped with an assortment of her famous chocolate chip and butter cookies, another of Mom's favorites.

Uncle Joe was a successful businessman who owned a large plumbing business, which afforded them a comfortable life. He was a hunter and owned a trailer in a private hunting club that we went to for the weekend. Nestled deep into the woods, the trailer had everything Aunt Elda needed to prepare the same wonderful meals the same way she did at home. All of us wore bright orange vests so we could be seen by other hunters, even though his plot of land was over five acres and posted with a no-hunting sign. If I remember, I heard Aunt Elda tell my mom Joe didn't plan on killing a deer when we were there, he just didn't want us kids to believe he shot Bamby.

I loved our visits to Michigan, the sights and sounds of country living, and the sound of crickets and star-filled nights. Waking up with the sound of a rooster and bellowing cows waiting to be milked. Our time there went by too fast as we talked about next summer and how it couldn't come fast enough. With bags full of sweet corn and a variety of foods, Aunt Elda made sure we ate well on the ride home. As for Uncle Joe, he handed each of us kids a twenty-dollar bill, more money than any of us had ever had. He slipped mom a small wad of cash, pressing it into her hand, knowing she could use it.

The ride home was long, giving us the time we needed to recall all the great things we did and the food, oh my lord, the food. Some years later, we stopped going to Michigan. I suppose time caught up with us, and hanging out with friends was more important. But they came to visit us once a year, and our time together was as wonderful as always. Aunt Elda took over Mom's kitchen, and Dad took Uncle Joe to the firing range to shoot paper targets. He still gave us each a twenty-dollar bill and pressed a wad of cash into Mom's hand. Memories are a beautiful thing, especially when you have an aunt, Elda, and an uncle, Joe.

Mike 2026