Ice Cream Ritual

It's the all American summer ritual - ice cream cones and water ice.

What a variety of shops there are these days. The old standbys like Dairy Queen have been joined by new establishments like Cold Stone Creamery. Then of course there's the TCBY, Rita's, and in my neck of the woods, a host of Mom and Pop enterprises.

My best ice cream memories are tied to dairies that served their own ice cream on site. As a kid, one of my favorite Saturday evening outings was a family trip for farm fresh ice cream followed by a game of miniature golf. The golf course, aglow beneath humming sodium lights, was directly across from the dairy.

I would race to lick the trickles of melting ice cream before the sweet substance coated my fingers, while planning my strategy for getting the golf ball in the mouth of the clown on the 18th hole and winning my free game.

My own children enjoyed ice cream from a dairy just around the corner from our house. Weathered picnic benches were positioned just outside the cattle stalls. The kids could eat their ice cream while listening to the shuffling and snorting of the cows that made the summer treat possible.